Reversal of Fortunes: Shades of Gray
by mnfowler
Summary: A horrible massacre has taken place at Sunnydale High, and Buffy is missing. (Also, Principal Snyder fears that smoking was involved.) This story takes liberties with year three and changes things entirely, launching an alternate reality. What if…?
1. Chapter 1

Audaces fortuna iuvat (Fortune Favors the Brave)

—Sunnydale High School's motto

Chapter One

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 8:30 AM. The students of Sunnydale High School were stunned to see bright yellow crime scene tape surrounding their entire school. Of course they were used to seeing individual rooms and even sections of the school cordoned off by the police, but not the whole campus. This was supposed to be the first day of school after Thanksgiving, but there would be no school today. By California standards, it was a cold morning, but clutches of students and faculty huddled about the parking lot less to share body heat and more to guard against the inner chill that came from knowing that their school—so often rocked by horrors—might now be the scene of the most gruesome yet. The rumor whisperers differed in their certainty, but their stories were consistent in one detail: The entire Razorback cheerleading squad had been massacred over the weekend while getting in some extra practice for the state cheerleading competition.

On the school steps, stone-faced police officers stood in a line in front of the crime scene tape. Behind them, Principal Snyder spoke seriously to the Police Chief. "I'm very serious," he said to the Chief. "This has gone way beyond the detention or expulsion stage. I don't allow massacres in my school, especially of cheerleaders who have a chance of winning the state championship. And mark my words: whether it's a massacre or a so-called harmless prank, you can be sure that Buffy Summers is deeply involved."

"Still, we have to rule out alternative theories before we can go after Summers."

"Why? I'm telling you, I'm as sure that she's behind this as I am that Richard Nixon was completely innocent." When the Chief stared at him searchingly Snyder exclaimed, "What?"

No one paid close attention to the figures gathered at the edge of the parking lot on a grassy patch beneath a tree. Rupert Giles, the school's librarian, stood while Xander, Willow and Oz sat on the bench before him. They all looked up at Giles as if he could explain what had happened, but his brow was wrinkled in perplexity as he began to speak.

"Quite possibly, I know less than you do," he said. "Early this morning, one of the custodians discovered the bodies of several young women wearing cheerleader costumes. The bodies were dead only a day at most, I believe."

"I hope you'll spare us the unnecessary details," said Willow.

"What? Oh, yes, of course," muttered Giles. "The good news is that I don't believe that Buffy was amongst them. The bad news is that I don't know where she is." He fumbled for words. "Sh—she hasn't checked in since Friday."

"Maybe Buffy ran away again," interrupted Willow brightly. For voicing this possibility, she was rewarded on all sides by icy, silent stares. "Sorry," she said. "It sounded like a good thing when I formulated it in my head."

"What I'd like to know," began Xander, who had been chewing on his lower lip for the past ten minutes. "No, I take that back. I don't 'want' to know this if it's what I think, but I need to know. Did they find Cordelia?"

"To answer your question as best I can," said Giles, "I've heard some names mentioned, and Cordelia's isn't one of them. On the other hand, I am afraid that it was the cheerleading squad, and Cordelia is its captain. Has anyone else seen or heard from her since, say, Saturday night?" They peeked at one another out of the corners of their eyes, but no one spoke. "When did you last see Cordelia?" Giles gently asked Xander.

"Saturday afternoon," he said and then looked down at his knees. "She told me something about her plans for the rest of the day, but I was too busy thinking about…" He gave Willow a sidelong glance; his voice trailed off as he began chewing his lip again.

"What's this, somebody's funeral?" They all turned to see Faith sauntering toward them from across the street. "You guys look wicked dreary. What's goin' on?"

Giles took a step toward her as if he could head her off and spare the others an assault from Faith's insensitivity. "I'm afraid there has been a massacre in the school gymnasium," he said.

"God! Vamps?"

"It would seem likely. From what little I've learned, there was surprisingly little blood—from the perspective of the police; yet all of the victims are described as having bled to death."

"Not sparing the gory details!" said Willow in a distressed singsong.

"Oh, sorry," said Giles.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" enthused Faith. "Better find B and dust some vamps, right?" Everyone was silent. "Don't tell me, Buffy already took off after them. Doesn't that girl share the glory with anyone?" Faith looked from face to face, reading in each one the new high on the gloom meter. Finally she said, "Just tell me what happened."

* * *

><p>4:30 AM, EARLIER THE SAME DAY. Angel was visible through the window of his room in the old mansion. He was slowly moving through his martial arts routine. Outside, something stirred in the pre-dawn. Angel slowed to a stop. He then glided across the room, snatched his black shirt and deftly pulled it over his torso while on the move. He slipped outdoors and took a position behind a hedge that bordered the manse. There were no further sounds or movements from beyond. Angel sniffed the air. He moved stealthily to another position, hiding for a few seconds, observing, and then moving again. In this way, he made it around the perimeter of the south wing in less than ten minutes.<p>

Spike had been spying on Angel, whom he held ultimately responsible for Drusilla breaking up with him, but the platinum-haired vampire had cursed his vampyric grandsire and rival silently. He had not become carried away enough to make any noise. Indeed, Spike had heard the same distant crunching of leaves that Angel must have, but he had no idea of what it was.

Spike only changed his hiding place once in order to avoid the path of Angel's steady prowl. It was then that the two vampires froze, hearing the noise again. It was difficult to tell at that range, but Spike thought that the distant figure moving through the woods looked like Buffy. He wondered whether Angel thought so, too. His suspicion was confirmed when Angel called, "Buffy?" But she didn't come. Whoever or whatever it was hadn't heard or didn't want to respond. The figure disappeared from view and there was nothing but stillness. Angel went back into his mansion. After waiting a suitable length of time, Spike headed toward the spot where the small female figure had disappeared. He was thinking that something was going on that might be interesting enough to distract him from thoughts of his breakup with Dru.

SAME DAY, 11:00 AM. As she trudged along Maple Street, Willow wished she was in class where she always felt most comfortable. She knew that made her a nerd in the eyes of everyone else, including her friends, but it was a truth she had come to accept. It was a truth unchanged even by her recent status boost from dating Oz who belonged to the local rock band, Dingoes Ate My Baby. Willow would not be in school today, however; there would be no school until Thursday. Funerals for the seven victims found in the gym were scheduled for Wednesday, but there were to be memorial services to include the missing as well: Cordelia Chase and Harmony Kendall were not among the victims, but, like Buffy, they could not be found, either.

Earlier, Willow had spoken to Joyce Summers, Buffy's mother, and Mr. Giles who, together, were looking for Buffy, so far without any luck. Neither of them wanted to go near the mansion where Angel stayed, so Willow had volunteered because she trusted Angel more than they did. Giles had urged her to take Xander with her, but Willow could not do that. Not only were Xander and Angel like oil and water, but Willow could not take Xander along because they were so uncomfortable around each other. She had been considering a de-lusting spell to bring an end to the developing "hots" between them. But now that seemed unnecessary. Cordelia's death had been better than a cold shower, she thought. (Then she thought better of sharing that thought with anyone.) In any case, now their discomfort was greater than before: he was distraught over Cordelia's disappearance as well as guilty for having betrayed her, and being around him made Willow feel responsible for how he felt on top of her own guilt for having betrayed Oz who was supposed to be—was, in fact—her boyfriend. The only good thing about it all was a dim, peripheral awareness that the whole business made Willow feel grown up; she did not like being grown up very much so far.

At last Willow came to Angel's mansion. It was weathered, overgrown and dark. It looked abandoned and seemed to scream "creepy!" even an hour before noon. Bravely, Willow walked up the front steps and opened the massive door, which seemed to creak forever. Inside, the light was dim, and Willow had to wait for her eyes to adjust before moving deeper into the house.

"Angel?" she called tentatively. A square-jawed, brooding face came out of the darkness toward her, startling her before she registered that it was Angel.

"Hello, Willow," he said. "Are you looking for Buffy?"

"How did you know?" asked Willow.

"That's easy to guess. You know Buffy visits me here. Besides, I thought I saw her this morning."

"She was here this morning?" asked Willow, her voice fluttering with hope.

"I can't say for certain. I saw someone in the woods. It sort of looked like Buffy from a distance, but when I called to her, she—or whoever it was—just kept on going. Is Buffy in some kind of trouble?"

"We don't know," Willow said. It suddenly sank in that she couldn't tell whether her friend was alive or dead, safe or in desperate trouble. It was like the previous summer—when Buffy had run away—all over again. Only now Willow felt a particular urgency because Buffy might need to be saved from something; if they could find her in time, they might be able to help her. Willow also knew that this time it was unlikely that Buffy had gone far away; wherever she was probably was not beyond city limits.

"Actually, Buffy has been keeping her distance for the past few days," Angel was saying. "Look, did something happen besides Buffy disappearing?" Willow told Angel what little she knew about the cheerleader massacre, and he was thoughtful for a long time. At last he said, "I'll help you search for her."

* * *

><p>"The police found some blood on the upper landing, but there was no body nearby," said Allan Finch who was briefing Mayor Richard Wilkins III. The Mayor sat behind his massive desk, steepling his fingers as he listened intently to his deputy. "They are going to have the county crime lab do some DNA analysis to see if the blood matches one of the cheerleaders."<p>

Wilkins nodded thoughtfully as Finch concluded. "What do you think they'll find, Mr. Trick?" the Mayor asked.

Behind Finch, a chair swiveled about to reveal the figure of Mr. Trick. "My sources tell me they're not gonna find a match to any of the cheerleaders. The landing's where 'it' happened: The Day of Jubilee in the land of the undead."

"Jubilee!" snapped Wilkins. "All I need is a fresh Slayer poking around here! Don't you know the saying, 'The devil we know is better than the one we don't'? Now, I realize that that particular aphorism is inapt in our case, considering we're the ones on the dark side, but I think the point I'm making holds up."

"Whoa, whoa, my man," cooed Trick. "Let me allay your apprehensions. Ain't no other Slayer comin'. Leastwise, not unless somebody offs that girl, Faith. She's the one an' only Slayer now."

"But I thought that when a Slayer dies, another comes."

"The way I hear it, where do you think Faith came from? She was called after the first time Buffy died."

"So Buffy has died before this?"

"Yeah," said Trick, "but this time she's gonna stay dead."

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 6:00 A.M. When Willow awoke the next morning James Taylor's pleasant voice was singing from her clock-radio, "Now the first of December was covered with snow…." She slapped the button on top of the radio for a temporary reprieve, but then she couldn't go back to sleep. She was completely exhausted from her and Angel's fruitless search. They had split up during the daylight hours so that Willow could search above ground while Angel searched beneath. Then they had joined forces after dark, but all to no avail. After a shower—her hair still wet and stringy—Willow dressed quickly, grabbed a piece of toast and a plastic container of orange juice. She slipped out, avoiding her mother, and headed straight to Giles' apartment where she found Xander, Faith and Oz waiting in the courtyard outside.

"Yo, Red," said Faith with a casual thrust of her chin. For Faith, it was a subdued and polite acknowledgement.

"Giles isn't back?" asked Willow. Oz put down the newspaper he was reading. Willow shivered as she caught a glimpse of the blaring headline: "SUNNYDALE HIGH SCHOOL CHEERLEADERS MURDERED." Oz came over and hesitated a fraction of a second before he kissed Willow on the cheek. Willow smiled at him and realized that her forehead had been a knot of worry before he had kissed her. In her mind, no part of his reason for doing that could possibly have been because she looked beautiful to him; it must have been because Oz saw that she needed reassurance that at least something was still OK. Willow felt deeply grateful; then, in the next moment, she looked at Xander and felt guilty, her forehead reverting to the knot.

"Hi, Will," said Xander as he attempted a glum version of a smile. Then he suddenly called out, "Giles!" They all looked to see the librarian trudging slowly up the walk, Joyce Summers just behind him. Giles smiled wanly but immediately turned downcast.

"I gather from your expressions you have no news," said Giles to them all. "I'm afraid we have no news, either." He fumbled jangling keys from his pocket, and then unlocked the door to his apartment. Behind him, Willow and the others searched for words to say to Joyce. Finally, Willow threw her arms around Buffy's mother and the two women hugged each other for a long, desperate moment. The boys and Faith stood by, uncomfortably silent, before quickly following Giles into his apartment.

When all of them were inside, Oz approached Giles and offered him the newspaper as if he thought he could keep his communication secret and not alarm the others. "Actually," he said quietly, "there is news, and it's not good." He pointed out a story on the bottom fold of the paper. Giles read silently, all the while his brow adding new furrows to the ones that seemed permanently established.

"What is it?" asked Joyce, her voice straining to suppress her frustration.

"I'm afraid there have been additional killings," he said, looking around at his rapt audience. Then he quoted the newspaper: "'Police say that the twelve murders occurred in various parts of the city, but each bears a striking resemblance to the murders of the Sunnydale High School cheerleaders. Police are withholding details pending their investigation, but unconfirmed reports suggest that, like the cheerleaders, the new victims were drained of blood. The killings occurred between late Saturday night and late Monday night. Only two of the new victims are believed to have known each other. They lived in different neighborhoods and worked in different parts of town at different occupations. Police advise Sunnydale residents to stay indoors after dark and not to admit strangers to their homes under any circumstances'." Giles dropped the newspaper on the dining room table. "That seems calculated to set off a panic," he bitterly observed.

"Why shouldn't we panic?" asked Joyce. Then she thought of something. "Was Buffy one of them?"

"No," replied Giles quickly. "The names of the twelve new victims are in the article, and I don't know any of them."

"Willow," said Faith, "I understand you saw Angel yesterday. Sorry Giles wasn't able to find me or I woulda gone along."

"No, it was OK. Angel seemed genuinely concerned, but he said Buffy has been keeping her distance from him for several days." Then she remembered something. "Sorry, I should've told you this before, but it's probably a false lead."

"What?" said Giles and Joyce in unison. They glanced at one another, apparently startled by the echoic effect. Then they turned back toward Willow.

"Angel said that he heard a noise outside his mansion yesterday shortly before dawn. When he went outside, he thought he saw a figure in the woods that looked something like Buffy, but when he called her name, whoever or whatever it was just disappeared. Angel was really unsure it was her, so I didn't mention it. Sorry."

"Did he say how she looked?" asked Joyce. "How was she?"

"No, he really didn't get a good enough look to even be sure it was Buffy."

"Still, maybe I should talk to him after all," said Giles. "Maybe he remembers some other detail that might be important."

"Seems like if it was Buffy, and he called to her, she might have come over to him," mused Faith.

"But Angel himself said she was avoiding him," said Joyce. "Maybe she heard him calling her but didn't really want to see him."

"If she didn't want to see him, why was she near his place?" asked Faith logically.

Joyce's eyes welled with tears. "Because she still loves him." Her voice cracked.

Giles shot Faith a look. "Please, everyone," he said. "Some of us have been up all night and should go home and get some sleep. Xander, would you please take Joy—…er…Mrs. Summers home?"

"Absolutely not," said Joyce. "I'm not going to rest until we've found Buffy."

"I don't mean to stop looking for her," said Giles, "but we will all need rest, and soon, or we won't be much good to her."

"I have an idea," said Faith. Willow looked toward her in surprise, as did everyone else. Faith was famous for reacting to the situation at hand, not making plans or having actual ideas. "Since the school is closed and the library off-limits," Faith continued, "Giles' apartment is obviously Scooby Central for the duration, so—unless Giles has any objections—I recommend we all camp out here. That means Joyce could go home long enough to grab a few things and come back." Faith paused and looked around at her stunned audience. "What does everyone think?"

"I think it's a fine idea," said Giles.

"I don't," said Joyce. There was a tense moment as everyone looked back and forth between Joyce and Faith. "I'm sorry," said Joyce to Faith. "I meant to say I think you have half a good idea, but instead of making Giles' apartment… Scooby Central?… why don't we use my house for our headquarters? There's a lot more room there."

"I stand corrected," said Giles. "I agree with Joyce."

"So do I," said Faith. "Thanks, Joyce."

"Don't mention it, Dear," Joyce said. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

><p>At the Summers' home, everyone quickly settled on room assignments, and Joyce finally took Giles' suggestion and went upstairs for a nap. When she was gone, Giles told the others his private thoughts. He was worried that the increased vampire activity might suggest that Buffy was no longer alive. "Without the Slayer about, Sunnydale's vampire population seems to have been emboldened."<p>

"Slayer sittin' right here," said Faith.

"Sorry," said Giles. "But you know what I meant."

"Unfortunately, yeah. As usual, everyone thinks that only B offs vamps around here. I don't blow my own horn, so I didn't mention I dusted six vamps last night."

"Six?" asked Giles. "Doesn't that number seem unusually high?"

"You calling me a liar?" asked Faith.

"Not for a moment," replied Giles. "I am asking you whether six vampires in one night suggests to you a sharp increase in vampire activity."

"Well, yeah," Faith mused. "Over the past month I've averaged only two or three a night."

"In that case, we have a lot to do," said Giles. "Faith, you can handle patrolling by yourself, but report to me if it gets out of hand. We may be forced to organize backup for you. For now, we should put every available person on the task of trying to find Buffy. I'm not convinced that merely covering ground is helping. Faith, why don't you see about wringing some information out of Willy—not too literally, mind you—and I have a few sources of my own to tap. Then I will go to Angel at dusk. We should meet back here about eight o'clock tonight. Why don't the rest of you get some sleep until then?"

* * *

><p>Willow had chosen the extra bedroom. Whenever she was in it, the room gave her the queer feeling that it was waiting for another Summers to arrive, though that didn't make any sense to her. Oz, who always seemed to have an extra sleeping bag and foam mattress rolled up in his van, was helping Willow lay out her bedding.<p>

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," said Willow.

"Really?" said Oz as he neatly aligned the sleeping bag with the mattress beneath.

"Yeah," said Willow. Oz said nothing, continuing with his task. Willow went ahead. "I've been having certain feelings lately."

"Uh huh," said Oz, putting the finishing touches on the sleeping bag which he had lined with one of the Summers' sheets. Then he turned to face Willow. "Is this something we should both be sitting down for?" he asked. "Because I notice there's a dearth of chairs in this room. Tell ya what: Let's try out the sleeping bag—sitting on it, I mean." Willow wondered how it had come to this. Oz was so sweet and thoughtful, and yet Willow was having the hots for Xander—of all people! Xander, who had broken her heart so many times—or, rather, rent it continually since their first day in kindergarten—had finally come around just when Willow was trying to figure out the way to Oz's heart. She doubted that way could be furthered by confessing her feelings for another guy. But Oz sat her down on the bedding next to him and took her hand in his. He looked at her very seriously. "If you're having second thoughts about dating a werewolf, I'll understand," he said.

"Oh, no! I wasn't even thinking about that," said Willow. "I don't want to break up with you."

"Well, it just occurs to me that bad timing is called 'bad' for a reason," said Oz. "Buffy is missing, the Scooby gang is in crisis mode, and at dusk tomorrow I'll be turning."

"Oh, my God, Oz! I completely forgot. It'll be a full moon Thursday."

"So I'll be kind of wolfish for three nights this week. And I'd understand if you'd rather not deal with that just now. I can use the cell in the mausoleum. Xander or Giles can lock me in, and I'll probably be secure even without anybody watching."

"Forget about it, mister," said Willow. "Xander, Giles and I will take turns watching you. We can't neglect a vital part of our routine just because there's a crisis on. Why, if we did that, everything would go ker-fluey."

"Really, you don't have to…" began Oz.

Willow leaned toward him with the sternest expression she could muster. "Resolve-face," she intoned.

* * *

><p>Before he went out to meet Angel, Giles invited Faith into the kitchen to share a pot of tea. During the long silence that ensued, Giles watched Faith rocking away from the table on the rear legs of a kitchen chair, and he induced from her sour face and untouched cup that she didn't entirely care for tea but was humoring him with uncharacteristic tact. Finally Giles forged ahead with the thought that had been on his mind for two days.<p>

"Faith, I am not sure that either of us is ready for this, but at the moment, we can't be certain that there are two Slayers. You could well be the only Slayer in the world right now."

"Gee, no pressure or anything, huh?"

"Quite right," replied Giles. "There is a lot of pressure on you, but I want to remind you that it's my duty as a watcher to help you with that pressure—if you'll let me."

"So I have your undivided attention now?"

"If you'll have me. You are entitled, of course, to petition the Watchers Council for a watcher of your own. I could even make some recommendations if you are interested. I just want you to know that I am willing to serve you in that capacity myself."

"Well, no offense," said Faith, further slumping into the kitchen chair and carelessly crossing her long legs, "but I hate taking sloppy seconds."

"I'm going to ignore the crudeness of that image and presume that you mean that Buffy is my favorite in a way that would prevent me from being a good watcher to you. All right, I'll admit to being very fond of Buffy. So much so that it frankly pains me to consider the possibility that she is gone and—without a shred of tangible evidence—have to proceed as if it might be so. The work of the Slayer must go on, after all."

"Well, I'm not really big on 'the show must go on' bit," Faith replied.

Giles was about to say something cross when he stopped and smiled to himself. "You and Buffy have a lot more in common than you realize. Did you know that when I first met her, I did not immediately say, 'That's going to be my favorite Slayer'?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I believe I said something more like, 'Damn, that didn't go well at all'. In point of fact, I thought Buffy to be self-centered, contrary and more suited to slaying the English language than vampires."

Faith laughed. "Yeah, Buffy comes up with some wicked Valley-speak sometimes, don't she?"

"Right," said Giles evenly. "My point is, Faith, that people who work together—if they get to know each other's strengths and weaknesses—they—they eventually find out whether they can depend on each other, and that's where the bond—as I like to think of it—between Buffy and me originates. I can't guarantee that you and I will develop the same kind of relationship that I have had with Buffy. I don't expect it to be the same, but—at the same time—I have observed that you are a remarkably talented Slayer, and I don't expect that our relationship would be inferior to the one I have had with Buffy—just different. I'm only making a suggestion that you can think about if you want."

"So, you think I'm talented?" asked Faith.

* * *

><p>Mayor Wilkins sat across his desk from Mr. Trick, staring for a long time before he spoke. Trick tolerated this for as long as he could but eventually began craning his neck as if searching the walls and ceiling of the Mayor's office for a threat that might seep into the room by way of unseen crevices.<p>

"I appreciate your taking the time from your busy schedule to see me," Wilkins finally said with an edge of sarcasm.

Ignoring the Mayor's acerbity, Trick answered, "As they say in Paris, je vous en prise." He was even amused with himself at the way that "Pa-ree" and "en pree" had rhymed. A smile crossed his lips.

"I wonder whether you are aware that Spike is back in town," continued the Mayor.

"Is that boy up to it again?" asked Trick, seemingly almost relieved.

"Gee, at least nineteen dead bodies turning up around town—Do you think?" the Mayor asked pointedly. "Who could it be but Spike?"

"Yeah. Ain't too many suspects," said Trick nodding.

"I don't mind bloodshed," the Mayor assured Trick. "Heck, bloodshed is an important part of what made this country great, but I'd like to keep things quiet around here during the coming months. The next time there is a massacre in Sunnydale, it should be me doing the massacring."

"So, you want me and the boys to organize a welcoming committee for Spike?"

"It's almost as if you've read my mind," said the Mayor jovially. He looked with seeming interest at a paper on his desk and reached for a pen.

"Anything else I can do for you?" asked Trick.

"I think that will do for now," said the Mayor. "How many of the fellows are you going to take with you?"

"Ah, well, naturally I'll leave a few to hold down the fort," said Trick.

Wilkins sucked in his breath. "Not what I asked," he said, his tone caustic once again. "I haven't seen as many of your scamps around lately. Seems like they're at, what, half-strength? They haven't taken off, have they? I'm not looking in the wrong direction for the killers in town, am I? Maybe nineteen victims is a little many just for Spike."

"No, no," said Trick quickly. "They've been out trying to find out whatever's causing this little spree. I was just thinking, maybe I should get in touch and see if any of the fellas have located Spike."

"Gee, already sent them out looking. That's nice." The Mayor beamed. "That's the kind of initiative that brought you to my attention in the first place." Wilkins went back to signing papers and Trick started for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Trick," said the Mayor.

"Sir?" replied Trick.

"Don't let him get away." Wilkins spoke without looking up from his desk.

"I won't," replied Trick.

"That'd be swell," said the Mayor as he signed a document with particular flourish.

* * *

><p>"Well, she sounds very unreasonable," Joyce was saying to Spike as they sat at her kitchen table.<p>

"She is. She's out of her mind! That's what I miss most about her," Spike said. "But enough about me. Have the police told you anything about Buffy?"

"After calling me in this morning for a DNA swab, they telephoned this evening to say that they think Buffy was there—in the school that night—but they won't say whether my DNA helped determine that or anything else. They claim they haven't found her, but they seem to know something. 'It's an on-going investigation, ma'am', they keep saying."

"Soddin' coppers," muttered Spike. Then, "Excuse my language."

"Don't worry about it. Frankly, I couldn't be more furious. Mr. Giles said he would go talk to someone he knows who might be able to find out more about it."

"I hope he finds something. It must be terrible to have Buffy go missing."

"Well, it helps that you may have seen her. I have to wonder why, if she's out there, she doesn't just come home. Do you think it could have been something I said?"

"I'm sure it couldn't be. She wouldn't do anything to cause you worry, if she could help it. Oh, I heard about last summer, but I'm sure she's learned her lesson. One thing I've found out about Buffy is she cares about her mum more than anyone."

"Spike!" Angel hollered angrily from the back porch by the kitchen door, which Spike had left open when Joyce let him in.

"Well, almost anyone," Spike allowed calmly.

"Spike, you get away from her! I'm warning you!"

"Why are you here?" said Joyce alarmed by Angel's ire. "Buffy doesn't want you here."

"Is Buffy here?" asked Angel, confused. "I thought she was missing." He was distracted from this line of inquiry when Spike stood behind Joyce and raised his fingers over her as if they were claws. Spike put on his game face.

"Right," added Spike. "You aren't welcome." He mimed diving his fanged mouth into Joyce's neck.

"Spike, I'm warning you!" said Angel. Without thinking, he put on his own game face.

"What is going on?" asked Joyce, shaken. She turned and saw Spike's game face and jumped aside. "What are you two doing?"

"I'm protectin' you," said Spike, losing his bumpy face and straightening up. "Angel is evil, don't you know that?"

"I might have believed that this morning," Joyce said. "But Willow says Angel helped her look for Buffy yesterday."

"But he didn't find her, did he?" Spike noted, raising an eyebrow significantly.

"Well, he did as well as you," said Joyce.

Angel lost his game face, too. "'As well as you'? What does that mean, Spike?"

At that moment, Giles entered the kitchen. "Spike! What are you doing here? Get away from Joyce."

"Why does everyone think I have it in for Joyce—except Joyce?" whined Spike.

"I'm beginning to wonder myself," she said.

"Would somebody just invite me in?" shouted Angel.

Giles hesitated before he said, "Joyce, would you mind asking him in? Only someone who lives here can invite him."

"Is that so?" said Joyce. She walked up to the doorway and stared into Angel's face, not eager to give up the one bit of control she had over the situation.

"Please, let me in," said Angel contritely.

"Come in," said Joyce sighing. She walked over to the sink and leaned against it, facing the room. Giles went to her and placed his hand on her arm. He seemed about to tell her something.

"What's this about you seeing Buffy?" Angel demanded.

"Oh, that," said Spike.

"You saw Buffy?" asked Giles turning away from Joyce. "Where?"

"At the old mansion where Angel lives."

"But—you told me it was in the woods," started Joyce. "Oh, those are the woods near the mansion, isn't it."

"You've been snooping around my place?" demanded Angel.

"Oh don't get your knickers in a bunch, Cinderella," said Spike offhandedly. "It isn't like there's anything to see. All you do is prance about like some ballerina without a bleedin' tutu. I've seen dryin' paint that was more excitin'."

"You practice ballet?" asked Joyce.

"In the buff?" asked Xander, who had just come into the kitchen and was still trying to size up the situation.

"It's tai chi, not ballet," said Angel. "And I don't practice in the buff or else Spike would be more excited about it."

"Ooh, snappy comeback," said Spike appreciatively.

"So, you two actually saw Buffy at the same time," said Giles trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Except I'm not sure it was Buffy. How about you, Spike. Did you get a better look?"

"I did follow her into the woods," said Spike, "but I lost her. I didn't get much more of a look, but it means something that we both thought it was her, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Giles. "As inclined as I am to doubt each of you individually, for some incomprehensible reason, I'm more inclined to trust both of you together." Giles then said to Angel, "I went to the old mansion, but you weren't there."

"Sorry," said Angel. "I should get a phone so you can call ahead next time."

"Hmm," said Giles doubtfully. "I suppose the specific questions I had for you have been answered, but I would still like to speak with you about coordinating our search for Buffy. First, however, I need to have a word with Mrs. Summers in private."

"Don't you worry, Joyce," said Spike too loudly, "We'll find Buffy soon enough."

Giles glanced at Angel and shifted his eyes quickly in Spike's direction. Taking the hint, Angel said, "Spike, I think you and I have some minor differences to iron out. Right now. Outside."

"Don't see as that's necessary, mate."

"Oh, it is necessary. Let's go," said Angel, guiding Spike by the arm. The blond vampire shrugged off Angel's grip but nevertheless accompanied him out the back door. "We'll be standing by in case you need us," called Angel over his shoulder.

"Don't mind me," said Xander. "I'll just take the Pizza Palace's number off the fridge and go in another room to order us three pies with a tasty variety of toppings. Ah, somebody does have money to pay for pizza, right?" He looked from Giles to Joyce and back again.

Giles scowled but reached into his pocket and withdrew several ten dollar bills which he shoved into Xander's open hands. The two adults watched Xander pad out of the kitchen.

"The police have found Buffy's blood in the high school," said Giles wearily when they were alone. "It was on a landing and some steps."

"They matched it to the DNA sample I gave," Joyce stated with certainty. She sighed.

"Yes, the blood was from your daughter, and since you have only one daughter…"

"It has to be Buffy's," Joyce stated flatly.

"I'm afraid so."

"But if she's been dead since at least Sunday, how could Angel and Spike have seen her on Monday?"

"That's what I am wondering, too," said Giles.

"Could they both be lying?"

"I am thinking they are not."

Joyce eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure you aren't biased in favor of Angel? You are more used to trusting monsters than I am. You live in their world so much of the time, I suspect you almost prefer them to people."

"That's not fair," said Giles. He removed his spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief. "I…," he began. Joyce watched, fascinated by his meticulous actions in spite of herself. "Last year, when Angel turned evil, he kidnapped and tortured me. That was after he murdered Jenny."

"My God!" exclaimed Joyce.

"He…." Giles put on his glasses.

"I am very sorry," said Joyce. "I should have remembered about Ms. Calendar. I didn't know about the other thing, but I should have remembered that he killed someone you were close to."

"Yes." Giles removed his glasses again and pressed his lips together. Joyce suddenly embraced him, but they both pulled away just as suddenly, like obedient boxers retiring to separate corners once the bell has ended their round. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to take advantage. I know that you are vulnerable right now."

"Oh, don't talk nonsense," said Joyce.

"I beg your pardon?"

"And stop apologizing," she added. "I hugged you."

"Oh, so you did."

"There is a lot more to it, you know," she said. "It's more than just the fling we had in the fall."

"That didn't really count," said Giles. "We were under a spell at the time, as you may recall."

"Was that all there was to it?" she asked. "I feel so guilty about it sometimes. I'd be mortified if Buffy ever found out."

"Yes, I'm very sorr-…oh, uh, never mind… but you can't blame yourself for what you did under a spell."

"Maybe not, but I blame myself for sometimes wishing it hadn't been so easy to chalk it up to the supernatural."

"What are you saying?"

"Just that I don't know why I'm having these feelings at a time like this; maybe I am vulnerable, but I feel as if I'm seeing you for the first time. I suddenly realize that even while I've been blaming you for Buffy's life, I've known all along that you care about her. Maybe—I sometimes think—as much as I do. I don't know why you care about her so much, but I appreciate it more than you can know."

"I must confess that I wish I actually could protect her, but I can't—obviously. I feel rather powerless." They drifted toward each other and met in the middle of the kitchen.

"You're wrong," said Joyce. "I understand now that there are many more monsters that would be out to get Buffy—and would have gotten her long ago—if you hadn't been there to help her." They were now only a few inches apart, a distance that rapidly closed as each touched the other's body; their lips came near. They were about to kiss when shouts came from the backyard; there were too many voices to be accounted for by Angel and Spike.

Behind the Summers' house, Trick and his few remaining flunkies were squaring off with Spike.

"Mayor wants me to bring him your ashes," said Trick to Spike. "Now, Angel, you can step aside and no one else needs to get hurt."

"Not sure I can do that," said Angel. "I mean, thanks for the tempting offer to watch you dust Spike, but in good conscience I don't think I can let you do it."

"That's right," said Trick. "Vampire with a conscience—and a soul to go with it. Might just be your downfall, don't you think?"

"So far, so good," replied Angel as he and Spike stood back to back. The vampires closed in around them, but Angel produced a stake in each hand and instantly dusted the vampires nearest him. Seeing this, the others each backed up a step. It was all the advantage that Spike and Angel needed. They each led a small group of vampires off to battle separately. Trick's initial advantage of a massive force against Spike alone was now divided into a mere three of his minions surrounding each enemy. Since the mission was to eliminate Spike, it was not difficult for Trick to decide which trio of his people to join, and he added a fourth to Spike's adversaries.

Giles came out of the house at that moment, bringing crosses, stakes and holy water. Xander appeared, too, with a crossbow, letting loose on a vampire about to deliver a flying kick at Spike. Finding its mark, the arrow turned the vampire to dust almost at once. Giles splashed holy water on the first vampire to break off engagement with Angel and go after Xander. Crying in pain, the vampire backed directly into one of Angel's waiting stakes. Another vampire, seeing the futility of further combat, turned and ran. Angel approached to help Spike, when Trick, too, saw the hopelessness of their position and ordered a retreat.

"This ain't over," Trick said to Spike over his shoulder.

"He always says that," complained Angel.

"What I don't get," said Spike loudly in the direction of his retreating assailants, "is why the Mayor wants me dusted! What'd I ever do to him?"

"I think I can guess," said Giles. "Aside from the usual trouble you cause when you're in town, I'll wager the Mayor thinks that you're behind this latest murder spree. He probably thinks that you massacred the cheerleaders."

"Oh, please, come on!" said Spike. "I just got into town late Sunday night. No, really it was after midnight, so it was early Monday morning."

"And who else knows that?" asked Giles.

"Well, nobody aside from your lot."

Joyce had now joined them. She had wrapped a wool sweater around herself against the cool evening air. "What does it mean, Rupert?"

"Well, for one thing, it means that the Mayor doesn't know who is doing these killings anymore than we do."

"But what does he have against killing, if he's evil?"

"Nothing in principle," said Giles, "so long as he retains control over who kills whom."

"And how often," added Angel. "So what'll it be, Spike? Are you going to help us find Buffy?"

"Sure," said Spike. "Why not? Got nothin' better to do other'n mope over Dru. And I'm feelin' too good after the bundle we just had to go back to pinin'."

* * *

><p>Faith managed to enter City Hall without having to slay more than one vampire, which she accomplished with a minimum of noise. Mayor Wilkins stood when she entered his office but made no further move. His deputy, Finch, did move, but Faith stayed him with a look.<p>

"Well, well," said Wilkins. "Your ears must have been burning. We were talking about you this morning."

"Yeah? Why was that?" asked Faith.

"Seems that you are now The Slayer, with capital 'T' and capital 'S'."

"Hmm, I like to think of myself as having capital T and A," said Faith.

"Now, now, young lady, I don't allow language like that in here," Wilkins chided. "This isn't the Oval Office, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," replied Faith. "So, you admitting you killed Buffy?"

"Killed her?" Wilkins chuckled. "Hardly. It wasn't part of my plan to upset the delicate balance on the Hellmouth quite so soon."

"But you know she's dead."

"Well, I am the Mayor. I know what the police know."

"Not to mention whatever Trick knows."

"Heh-heh. That's right. You and he go back a ways, don't you? But you've wasted your time. I was just telling Allan, here, that it's about time to leak Miss Summers' demise to the press. It'll be in the papers tomorrow morning, along with the obituaries of her two friends." He paused. "Cordelia Chase and... is it Harmony Kendall? It's so sad, isn't it, Allan, when young people go before their time?"

"Found any bodies?" asked Faith.

"No, actually, but if you should stumble upon them, it could be very rewarding for you to let me know."

"That'd be nice, except I don't work for you, Wilkins."

"That's a real shame, too. A clever girl like you finding her way in here past all of my security. Mr. Trick did leave me with some security, right?" Allan was about to speak when Faith answered for him.

"You've got four guards left. You had five."

"And if I called them in here right now?" asked Wilkins playfully.

"Then you'd have… Let me see. Oh, yeah. Exactly none."

"Heh-heh. You are cocky as well as clever. I like that. Isn't cockiness an appealing quality, Allan? I mean, in someone who can back it up the way my girl Faith can."

"I'm not your girl."

"No, not yet. I hope you will be, though. I think someone with your talents would find herself appreciated more in my service than she is by that stodgy Watchers' Council. Oh, yes, I know all about those stuff-shirts across the pond."

"Save your breath," said Faith.

"But here, Faith, you would be my number one. With the Council you're only second choice."

"Buffy isn't here anymore," Faith said. "I'm their only choice now." With that she backed out of the office, glancing over her shoulder once to see where she was going. Wilkins strolled to the door and looked out into the empty hallway. Then he returned to his desk.

"She makes a fast exit, too," he observed nonchalantly.

"You want me to call anyone?" asked Allan.

"Who?" cried the Mayor. He picked up a gavel from his desk. "Trick is out searching for Spike, and he obviously didn't leave enough security to protect ME!" With the last word, Wilkins brought his gavel down on a crystal paperweight, smashing it into myriad pieces that scattered across the floor.

Finch shielded his face with his arms as shards peppered his pants. Recovering himself, he asked, "Isn't it just as well she didn't accept your offer? Mr. Trick is still your number one, isn't he?"

"So far," said Wilkins.

* * *

><p>Giles and Angel drove downtown in Giles' car to search for Buffy. They walked around together for a while and were about to split up when Angel said, "Who does that look like?"<p>

Giles squinted through his glasses. "It-it looks like Cordelia."

"I'm on it," said Angel. "Are you coming with?"

Angel was difficult to keep up with, but Giles managed. They followed the woman who resembled Cordelia passed the coffee shop and the theater. She did look a great deal like Cordelia except that Cordelia never wore quite so much form-fitting black leather and never before any PVC at all. Giles tried to wipe his glasses on the run but nearly stumbled and had to put them back on right away. Cordelia—or the woman who looked like her—stayed ahead of them consistently. She walked around the block—by chance passing Giles' parking spot—and turned to enter the mall.

"If you'll be good enough to follow her in," Giles suggested. "I'll go round to the rearmost entrance."

"At the rate she's going, you'd better take the car or she'll come out before you can get there."

"Right!" called Giles as he dashed off.

Angel entered the mall and saw that the woman who resembled Cordelia was already half way across the concourse and headed for the rear exit, gliding through the crowd of shoppers without obstruction. In the harsh artificial light of the mall, she looked strikingly artificial herself. Her skin was pale and her hair seemed especially dark and sleek. Her lips, when she turned to one side for a moment so that Angel could see them, were thickly red and there seemed to be a touch of rouge on her cheek which only emphasized the paleness of the rest of her. She wore black stilettos, dark nylon stockings, a tight black leather miniskirt, and an equally tight black PVC top, which appeared to be low-cut, although it was difficult to tell from behind because a leather jacket that came only to the midriff, did cover her shoulders. Nevertheless, Angel saw enough now to be convinced that it was Cordelia. He hurried to catch up, but she reached the exit well before him.

As Angel exited through the double doors, he saw Cordelia standing at the curb. Giles had just parked a few feet away from her and called her name as he clambered out of his car. She whirled and vamped out. Giles nearly fell backward as Cordelia advanced on him.

"Cordelia," called Angel. She turned to face him. He did not bother to put on his game face. Cordelia snarled at him, and then cast a doubtful glance in Giles' direction. As she turned away from them both, Angel recognized the little sports car that now pulled up to the curb. The license plate read "Queen C." The passenger door opened and in an instant Cordelia was inside. Even before she shut the door, the car screeched away, leaving a trail of rubber ten feet long.

"Did you see who was driving?" Giles asked breathlessly.

"I saw it," replied Angel, "but did you believe it?"

* * *

><p>Spike snuck into Willy's by the back way. He eyed the room for a moment. There, as he had hoped, was Trick, sitting at a table, nursing wounds and, evidently, in his cups already. He seemed to be alone. Spike had noted that each of the vampires at the Summers house had gone off in a different direction.<p>

Spike slipped into the chair beside Trick. "Let's parlay under a truce," suggested Spike. Trick eyed him suspiciously but made no move.

"What's to discuss?" said Trick. He took another sip of his Bloody Mary, which, Spike could tell from the smell, had been made with real blood. It was Willy's specialty.

"You know I didn't kill those cheerleaders," said Spike, "or anybody else for all that."

"How do I know that?"

"Because you did it."

"Huh?" said Trick.

"And besides, I know near as well as you that Buffy has turned."

Trick snorted. "What—you saw the girl do a pirouette?"

"I saw her in the woods the other night, and I know when I'm looking at a vampire."

Trick was quiet for a moment. "You talk to the girl?"

"No, I didn't talk to her," said Spike, "but I've only seen three vampires in this town who coulda turned her, and I know Angel and me didn't do it, so it had to 've been you."

"Well, this is an awkward situation," said Trick. "I'm supposed to take you out for all the killings, and now you know that I'm the one whose hide the Mayor would be after if he knew the truth."

"Yeah, so what?"

"Well, this little parley don't give me no reason not to kill you, do it?"

"But killin' me only buys you time. Sooner or later, the Mayor'll find out that Buffy—and Cordelia, too, I'll wager—" Spike gave Trick a chance to nod acknowledgment of this surmise, "—that they're the ones doin' all the killin' around town. In that case, you'll be needin' an alibi. I'll tell the Mayor I turned the birds, and you can rest assured he'll never suspect it was you."

"You'd do that for me? Why?"

"To save my own skin for one."

"But how can I trust you?"

"Simple. If I talk, I'm dust."

"But the Mayor still expects me to bring your ashes back tonight."

"You'll be bringing me back whole tonight, instead."

"He'd probably tell me to waste you."

"Not if I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

"That'd be…?"

"Well, let me ask you a question," said Spike. "Where are the rest of your men, really?"

Trick looked worried for a moment, and he replied cautiously. "You not only answer a question with a question, you ask one that don't make sense," he said.

"These killings. They couldn't be just Buffy and Cordelia alone," said Spike, laying out his entire hand. "There's teamwork in 'em. So where did your men go, Trick?"

"All right," said Trick, surrendering his secret at last.

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK: SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 8 P.M.: The gym and girls' locker room were the only areas of the school with lights on. The Razorback cheerleading squad had been working for more than an hour already, but, to Cordelia, perfection was not a matter of time spent but precision achieved.<p>

"Try to keep up, Buffy," said Cordelia.

"You're forgetting that I'm not actually on the cheerleading squad," said Buffy. "I'm just here to provide security."

"Well, you're holding the rest of us back," Cordelia complained. "Get with it or step aside."

"Gladly," Buffy said. She began to head for the bleachers.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded Cordelia.

"Just having a little sit-down," answered Buffy.

"Then we won't have the right number," Cordelia complained.

"Makes no difference to me," replied Buffy.

Suddenly, they heard a scream.

"What was that?" asked Harmony?

"Shhh," said Buffy. She stood still for a moment. "Sounds like it came from the boys' locker room."

"I guess you'd know," giggled Harmony.

"Quiet," ordered Cordelia. "What is it, Buffy?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to check it out. Get everybody into the locker where they keep all the athletic gear. Lock the door behind you, and don't come out until I tell you the coast is clear."

"All right," Cordelia said in a stage whisper, "everyone come with me."

"But I don't want to go into that locker," complained Harmony. "It smells like Coach Haskell in there."

"So that's what that smell is," mused Cordelia. "Oh, never mind, Harmony, let's go."

Trusting Cordelia to herd the cheerleaders into storage, Buffy went out of the gym and into the hallway. All was quiet and dark. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness in a moment. Seeing no one, she pulled on the door to the boys' locker room. It was locked. She gave it a tug with all her might and the entire handle and lock mechanism came away in her hand as splintered wood rained onto her gym shoes. "Sometimes I wish I could say that I don't know my own strength," she said. Tearing a piece of wood from the torn door, she went into the locker room. Turning the corner of a bank of lockers, she saw a girl cowering on a bench, sobbing. Buffy approached her and said, "It's ok, I'm going to get you out of here." But the girl just kept sobbing into her lap.

A vampire left a shadowy corner of the room and approached Buffy from behind. With ease, Buffy staked him without even turning around, and when the girl before her stopped sobbing and arose in full game face, Buffy staked her, as well.

In the showers, two vampires attacked Buffy, and again she slew both of them easily. Buffy explored the locker room until she was satisfied that it as vampire-free.

When she reentered the hallway, she found herself by the stairs leading to the walkway above the courtyard. As she climbed the stairs, two vampires came at her, one from above and one who had been downstairs. Buffy slew the one in front of her before turning on the one behind. "Hiding from me," she said. "That's not fair." She kicked the vampire on the chin and sent him bouncing down the stairs. Bones noisily crunched. The vampire groaned, but then climbed to his feet. "Work through that pain, why doncha," quipped Buffy. She edged up the stairs, looked around and then faced the partially crippled vampire ascending toward her. "Silly vampire," she said. "You don't have a chance."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said a voice from behind her. Buffy turned to see Mr. Trick, flanked by five vampires—five on each side of him. Before she turned back to face her crippled opponent, it registered that all eleven of the vampires behind her were standing in a neat row in the same posture, almost like disciplined soldiers at parade rest. They were not about to rush her: they were biding their time.

Then the crippled vampire before her placed his hands around Buffy's throat in a frontal stranglehold. Buffy hesitated for only a moment before bringing her palms together and forcing her arms upward like a wedge between his arms. She then wrapped her arms around his so that she not only broke his stranglehold hold but pinned his arms under her own. Lowering her head, she draw him in and battered his face with the top of her head. Next she let go of him and delivered a kick to his chest, this time sending him all the way to the bottom of the stairs.

From behind her came the sound of applause. It was only two hands clapping, but the echo resounded off of the high ceiling of the walkway and even against the wall across the courtyard. Buffy turned to see that Trick's men had not moved, but Trick himself had taken one step forward and was putting his hands together in slow, rhythmic slaps.

"Mm-hm! That was some fightin'," he said. "Let's see what else you got." Trick glanced at the first vampire to his immediate left. The vampire assumed game face and rushed forward. Buffy blocked a kick and a punch before beginning her own barrage of punches that forced the vampire to stagger backward. Buffy drew her stake and finished him.

No sooner had she done this when a male and female pair of vampires rushed Buffy simultaneously. The dark-haired, dark-clad female was more skilled than the male and survived him. Buffy was feeling tired now, though. And as she squared off against the female, suddenly three additional vampires surrounded her. Deftly moving between two of them, she placed herself outside of their circle. One vampire rushed her only to be impaled on her stake.

"You see that, people?" called Trick. "Don't get careless so close to victory. Time is on our side. Use it. Wear her down."

"I don't see you taking any of the risks they are," said Buffy breathlessly. "Are you going to talk me to death?"

"Oh I'll get involved when I'm good and ready," said Trick. At that moment, the black-clad female moved in. Buffy went to stake her; the vampire parried, then deftly kicked the stake from Buffy's hand. Buffy had only enough time to see it sail over the balustrade before she had to dodge another vampire's attack. The stake made a faint clatter when it landed in the courtyard.

"Now, what have you got left?" asked Trick.

"I still have me," replied Buffy defiantly.

"Yeah," said Trick, "but I got you outnumbered." To the others he added, "Wear her down."

And they did. Trick sent in another and another vampire until he alone stood outside the fray.

Buffy was nearly out of breathe—something vampires never were. She was able to land an occasional blow, but she was not slaying any now. The fight went on for more than an hour. In the end, Buffy fell and could no longer get up. Only one of the vampires on the landing was similarly prostrate.

"Well, I have got to step in and finish the job now," said Trick. The other vampires parted for their leader, and he strode in. He leaned over Buffy who, with one last effort kicked him in the groin. "Ooh, that is what ya call determination. You don't think we are going to just kill that, do you?" he said to the others. "No, we need that kind of skill on our side. We are going to turn this one. When we do, things are gonna get better. The Mayor will be happy, and, more importantly, we'll be happy. You dig?"

None of the vampires said anything, but Buffy said, "No."

"Don't worry," said Trick. "You'll thank me later."

As hours drew by, Cordelia and the other cheerleaders became increasingly restless. Cordelia herself wanted to get out of that smelly closet, but she understood better than the rest of them how dangerous it was out there. She was running out of lame explanations to keep her girls in line.

"Don't be such a wuss, Aphrodesia," said Cordelia. "If we stay in here, we'll be safe. Why do you think I invited Buffy tonight? She's pretty good at bodyguard stuff, even if she is déclassé, hanging out with the geek squad and all."

"Oh, I thought it was because you date one of her geek friends," said Sarah.

"I need to pee," said Harmony.

"Well, welcome to the club," snapped Cordelia. "I've been a charter member for the past hour."

"What's keeping her?" complained Aphrodesia.

"I don't know, but if she doesn't come back it's because there are bad people out there," said Cordelia. "And, believe me, I'd rather be in here than face those, ah, people."

"What people?" complained Harmony. "I don't care anymore. I'm going to open this door."

"No you're not!" warned Cordelia.

"Shh," said Aphrodesia. "I think I hear someone coming."

"Cordelia, the coast is clear," said Buffy's voice.

"Really?" asked Cordelia.

"No," said Harmony, "she's making it up. Now will you open the friggin' door?"

Cordelia and Harmony undid the chain on the inside of the door together, but as soon as they did, it was pulled open from outside by half a dozen figures with hideously bumpy faces. Two were female and one of these resembled Buffy down to the cheerleader outfit she had been wearing. As these monsters closed in on them, the cheerleaders began to scream. Only one, the youngest vampire hung back.

"What are you waiting for?" Trick asked him. "Get in there."

"But it smells like coach Haskell in there," she complained.

"You'll smell worse than that if you don't get in there!"

The cheerleaders were dragged out and some were unceremoniously drained of their blood. Clothing was removed from the rest so that they could be passed at leisure from diner to diner. The black-clad female took a particular interest in Harmony who sobbed and wept copiously. The vampiress grabbed Harmony by the hair; pulled her head back. She nibbled her neck and face and then licked the blood and tears away.

"You know," said the vampiress, speaking for the first time. "We need to replace some of our losses."

"So what, Malicia?" said Trick. "You want to replace them all with Miss Waterworks? She's probably worth about ten men." The other vampires laughed.

"We've already eaten most of them," said Malicia. "We should consider turning those who remain."

"This one has got to be the prettiest," said a tall vampire who dressed like a leather cowboy but spoke with a European accent. He held Cordelia's nude body by the shoulders and presented her to the others. "What should we do with her." Cordelia futilely tried to cover herself as she whimpered, "Please don't kill me."

"WE aren't doing anything with her," said Buffy. "I am." She stepped forward and took Cordelia's arm, glaring at the tall vampire until he let her go.

"Seems the new girl's awful uppity," said Trick. "As your official sire, I might have somethin' to say about this."

"'Official' is right," snarled Buffy. "I've got more skill and experience than you'll ever have. You took me when you had all your friends, and I had the disadvantage of being human, but do you want to go mano a mano right now?"

Trick hesitated, then looked around at his people—who were watching him. "What do you want her for?" Trick asked finally.

"Let's just say I have some unfinished business with this bitch. First I'm going to make her into my own special toy, and then, if I'm not too bored, I'll turn her." Buffy pressed Cordelia by the shoulder, making the frightened girl sink to her knees.

"Want your own protegee already?" asked Trick.

"More than that. I'll be recruiting my own army. If anybody's interested, meet me back here in an hour." Buffy glanced down at Cordelia who was crumpled in a quivering heap at Buffy's feet. "Make that two hours."

"We have to get out of here by dawn," said Trick. "In case you forgot: things are different now."

"It's Sunday, Trick. No one will be here all day. And are you forgetting I already know all of the tunnels connecting to the school—maybe even a couple you don't know about?" With that, Buffy took Cordelia by the hair and dragged her away as is if she were as light as a lunch box.

"Don't you want no help?" Trick lamely called after her.

"No," Buffy said without turning around, "This is a private party."

When Buffy and Cordelia had disappeared from their view, the rest of the vampires—excepting Malicia who busied herself making Harmony a vampire—amused themselves by redressing the dead cheerleaders and arranging them in the pattern of a horizontal pyramid on the floor of the gymnasium.

* * *

><p>"Buffy is out of control," Trick was telling Spike. "Too good for her sire now. She an' that head cheerleader went off on their own, taking half my crew with 'em! No respect for their elders among young people these days!"<p>

"So you pretty much bolloxed up," Spike observed dryly.

"Listen, you can still be dust," warned Trick.

"No need to go bonkers, now," said Spike. "Just makin' an observation."

"It's the kind of observation I don't need anybody makin'."

* * *

><p>The Mayor was about to swing his miniature-golf club when he looked around and saw Spike and Trick at his office door. "Well, well. More surprise visits," said Wilkins. "I have to admit, Mr. Trick, I didn't expect you to fulfill your promise by bringing him back alive. I hope you still intend to kill him."<p>

"Hear him out, Mr. Mayor," said Trick. "He didn't do it, but he knows who did."

"Be that as it may, when I say to eliminate someone, I generally don't want them standing in the middle of my office an hour later."

"See, here, Wilkins," said Spike. "Before you have me eliminated, you need to know I've seen the Slayer, and she ain't completely dead, if you get my meaning."

"That's impossible. It's been confirmed."

"Ah, but you don't 'ave the corpse, do you?" said Spike. "I've seen her."

"Are you two telling me Buffy Summers is a vampire?"

"I haven't seen her myself," lied Trick, "but I have heard from our people that she is out there, and she's the one that's been doing all the killin', not Spike. Not only that, but...well, Mr. Mayor, you know how we've been a little shorthanded lately...?"

"Yes, that's the next item that I was planning to bring to your attention," said Wilkins.

"Well, It turns out Buffy has been recruitin' her own army."

Wilkins leaned wearily against his desk. "This is certainly an upsetting turn of affairs."

"And there's another reason your man here didn't off me right away," said Spike. "I got a plan you might want to hear—a plan to kill 'er."

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 2. Willow entered the kitchen where Giles was frowning at the microwave. "Mr. Giles? Mrs. Summers told me you were having lunch out here."

Giles turned and brightened. "Oh, Willow, hello. Well, yes, I suppose that last night's pizza qualifies as lunch in some circles. What might I do for you?"

"Actually," said Willow timidly, "It's kinda what I might be able to do for Buffy."

"For Buffy? I-I thought Angel told you that Buffy... Willow, I am afraid that something dreadful has happened. That-that Buffy has met with what can best be described by the cliche 'a fate worse than death'..."

"She's a vampire. I know," said Willow.

"Then I'm not sure I understand what you propose to do for her—or why."

"I'm going to try to restore her soul."

"What?"

"It worked for Angel," argued Willow. "Based on the same principle it should work for Buffy."

"But the two situations are different," Giles objected. "Angel had already been cursed, so it was simply a matter of restoring his soul. Buffy's soul has been lost. You can't just restore it... unless...unless you intend to place upon her the very same curse!" Giles eyes widened in rare excitement accompanied by something akin to horror.

"That's it," said Willow.

"Dear Lord," said Giles, removing and beginning to wipe his glasses. "Do we even have the orb of Thesulah?"

"That's only a slight problem," said Willow. "It's in the library at school, which is kinda off limits at the moment."

"We shouldn't wait too long."

"That's why I'm going to the Magic Shop right after the services today. And I can gather all of the other things I'll need by tomorrow. I would like it if you would help me perform the ritual."

"Of course I'll help," said Giles setting his glasses on his nose.

After the memorial services for the slain cheerleaders, Willow hurried to the Magic Shop. It was open late today for the Christmas season, but she did not want to wait another moment. It was dusk when she arrived at the shop, but her spirits soared for the first time that week as she left with a fragile orb of Thesulah wrapped in newspaper and safely stored in a box and double plastic bags. She had not gone far from the shop when she ran into Angel and Spike. Excitedly, she drew them aside and in hushed tones told them what she planned to do.

"Another vampire with a soul!" complained Spike a bit too loudly. "Bloody cliche, if ya ask me."

"Nobody asked, Spike," said Angel. Then, to Willow, "You think it will work?"

"It has to," she said.

* * *

><p>Hours later and having slipped away from Angel with no difficulty, Spike found Buffy and Cordelia's hideout. Trick was correct in his suspicions about how to find them. The gang of renegade vampires were in the abandoned warehouses across the tracks, and Spike simply followed the smell of fresh blood from the nest's victims. As he rounded the corner of a grimy building, someone lunged from a doorway and swept Spike's legs out from under him.<p>

"Darn!" said Harmony, "Another vampire! There's not enough food in this part of town, you know. Why do vampires keep coming here?"

"I dunno," said Spike picking himself up. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, of course, this is our turf."

"And who's we?"

"Wouldn't you like to know. But, you know, you are kinda cute. If you'll be nice to me, I might take you to our hideout."

"That'd be thrilling, pet."

"I'm not your pet, buster," Harmony told him. "I'm empowered. My sire, Malicia, says so. And she says it's sexist to call it 'siring' when a female vampire makes a new vampire. I'm going to suggest we call it 'maring'."

"That sounds like something to put in the suggestion box," observed Spike. "I'd like to meet this Malicia."

"Then follow me. But don't expect anyone to be happy to see another vampire."

"Nobody ever is," said Spike.

Fortunately, the two dozen vampires sharing their last few victims needed little light to see. The entire warehouse was dimly lit by two ancient electric lamps, the rest of the lights having burned out long ago. Entering the room, Spike took in the entire scene in a glance. The place was a mess: dusty, full of broken tables and chairs, vampires grunting and noisily sucking dead and dying bodies, carcasses piled like cordwood in the corner in front of a chute that probalby led down to a dumpster at street level. "This is the life," said a suspirant Spike.

An exotic-looking woman in tight-fitting black garb, her black hair pulled back, approached them. Behind her was a tall, relaxed yet alert man with long dark hair similarly pulled back. He wore worn, brown leather from shoulder to foot and a black kerchief around his neck. He reminded Spike of a cowboy, although he had no hat or sixshooter.

"Malicia, guess what I found wandering around outside?" enthused Harmony. "Another vampire."

"Coal to Newcastle by the looks of it," ventured Spike.

"That's about the size of it," said the tall male vampire. Spike noticed that he drawled like a cowboy, too, but had a telltale continental accent that might have been Dutch.

"I'm Spike."

Malicia identified herself and thrust her thumb at the Dutch cowboy. "And this is Andreas."

"Pleased to meet you," said Spike. "So who's in charge around here?"

"Don't ask so many questions," said Andreas.

"I've only asked one," objected Spike.

"That's too many," drawled the Dutch vampire.

"Not that I can't guess the answer," said Spike.

"Then why ask?"

"Reckon I'm curious to see whether I'm right."

"Well, if it isn't William the Fucking Bloody!" Descending a rickety staircase with the grace of a princess making a ballroom entrance, was Buffy, outfitted in a red dress with matching pumps and black elbow-length gloves.

"How now," said Spike. He noticed Cordelia leisurely sauntering down the stairs not far behind Buffy.

"I suppose you're here to join our merry band of vampires," said Cordelia.

"I admit the thought had crossed my mind."

"Forget it, Spike," said Buffy. "I may have been reborn yesterday, but I remember your record as a team player."

"What? I play well with others."

"Not!" replied Buffy.

"For instance?" Spike ventured to ask.

"Let me see. There was the Annointed One; you joined his team."

"That worked out all right for you," said Spike.

"Of course it did—when I was the Slayer." All of the vampires who were not previously paying attention now viewed Spike with especial distrust. Buffy continued, "After that there was—oh yes, Angelus. You helped the Slayer—me—send Angelus to hell."

"Well, now, there were what you call extenuatin' circumstances."

"Right," said Buffy. "You weren't getting your way so you betrayed your friends."

"Well, that's a bit harsh..."

"Of course, you couldn't really betray your friends 'cause you never had any. By the way, you still don't—unless you're working for the Mayor and Trick at this very moment."

"Now, why would you think that? Here I come all the way down here to warn you that your old mates are schemin' to re-ensoul you, an' you go off makin' very hurtful insinuations."

Buffy looked stunned for a moment. "Who's re-en-whating who?"

"Ah, there, ya see? Now I've got your attention."

"OK, Spike, what is it you want—that is, if your information doesn't turn out to be a load o' crap as usual."

"Careful, careful about making hurtful insinuations."

"What do you want?"

"Me? Just a little fellowship amongst my own kind, is all."

"You want to join us. Anything else?"

"Wouldn't want another thing in the world. Except my next meal, of course. Which I can help with. I'm a good provider."

"They 're not planning to ensoul me, are they?" asked Cordelia.

"Not that I know of, but, of course, they might change their minds. If it works on Buffy, they might try it on all of us." This remark frightened all of the other vampires: except for one.

"What's re-insoling?" asked Harmony. "Sounds like something people do when they can't afford new shoes."

"That's re-soling you half-wit, and it's not that kind of soul," Buffy said. "So who and how, Spike?"

"What? You don't remember the drill from last year?"

"The orb of Thesulah," said Buffy.

"And guess who's doing the honors—again," said Spike.

"Willow," said Buffy.

Suddenly, Buffy's crew was surrounded by other vampires. "You're a hard girl to find," said Trick as he appeared on the catwalk above them.

Buffy turned furiously toward Spike. "You son of a bitch!"

"It was my idea, actually," said Trick. "All that electronic surveilance I picked up after the Slayerfest was just going to waste, so I decided: might as well put a bug on Spike and let him lead me to you."

"No hard feelin's, Love?" asked Spike.

"Damn if I can muster any, Spike," replied Buffy. "I suddenly find treachery an admirable quality." Buffy turned to Cordelia. "In the future, remind me to search people for wires."

"Future?" fumed Trick. "What makes you think you have any future?" He came down and addressed Buffy's crew. "The rest of you—including Cordelia—have amnesty if you join me, but Miss Buffy, here, is dust."

"Yeah," said Buffy. "You only want to bring them back because the Mayor will have you dusted if you don't. Otherwise you'd eliminate all of them, wouldn't you?"

"Anybody got a problem with their good fortune?" asked Trick. There was silence. "Guess not. Which reminds me, I am sick and tired of you running your mouth," Trick said to Buffy.

"That's funny," replied Buffy, "considering that running yours is about all you do."

"All right. You want to go mano a mano with your sire? Let's do it," said Trick, smiling as he put on his game face. "Everybody stand back and watch a master wipe the floor with little Miss I-Used-to-Be-the-Slayer."

"In your dreams, Trick," said Buffy as the two vampires squared off.

Trick came at Buffy with a roundhouse right punch. Buffy started to duck but then Trick pulled his punch and jabbed with a left. Buffy dodged the jab at the same time that she spun around and kicked at Trick's head. He ducked and then moved in again. Buffy retreated but soon advanced a counterattack. The two fighters scuffled across the floor, onlookers dodging out of the way. Buffy was more stylish and Trick was more of a street-fighter, but both were devious and aggressive and evenly matched.

Finally Trick dropped his game face and turned to the assembled vampires. "Oh, the hell with it," he said. "Free for all! Anyone who can dust her gets first bite on every kill."

Everyone hesitated and no one moved until Cordelia stepped forward to stand by her sire. "I'm with Buffy," she said. "Who else is with us?" As Cordelia put on her game face, Buffy gave Trick a wicked smile. But no one else joined either side.

"You?" Trick asked. "You wanna side with her? Don't you remember she tortured you before she turned you?"

"Well," said Cordelia with an uncharacteristic pause for thought, "I seem to recall being unhappy about it at the time..." She paused again, then smiled, "but now it's one of my fondest memories."

"Suit yourself," declared Trick, and turning to the others he said, "Dust 'em both."

Buffy put her game face back on just as Trick turned his back. She charged toward him, and with a flying kick sent her sire sprawling into a pile of broken furniture. Trick disappeared into a cloud of dust that then settled around the shattered leg of an overturned chair.

The other vampires stared in awe. Cordelia and Buffy braced themselves for an attack, back to back facing down all of them.

"You killed your sire—when he wasn't even looking!" complained Malicia.

"So what?" said Buffy, her face twisted in perplexity. "You were expecting me to be Dudley Doright? We're vampires!"

"None of us would have taken up his offer to attack you," said Andreas. "But then you slew him—like... like a Slayer."

"They're right, you know," said Spike. "Killing one's sire is just bad form—tempting as it might be. It's the worst sin a vampire can commit." He thought a moment, and a dark shadow passed over his face. "Well, almost the worst sin."

"What do you mean by 'almost'?" Cordelia asked.

"I'd rather not say," said Spike.

"Besides," added Malicia, "the Mayor is going to be pissed now that Trick is gone. He may come after us, too."

"Oh, believe me," said Spike, "he won't care. He was tired of Trick."

"In that case, I propose we offer our services to the Mayor," said Andreas. "Buffy was leading us nowhere, anyway."

"I'll be glad to take you to the Mayor," said Spike.

"And who will you betray us to on the way?" sneered Malicia. "The other Slayer?"

"Now that's unfair," said Spike, putting on his best pout. "I was just doin' the old Trickster a favor."

Harmony boldly walked up to Spike and said, "Save it for someone who doesn't care." At the last moment, however, she flinched. Spike snarled at her, and Harmony retreated. She joined the exodus of vampires.

Malicia turned to Buffy. "We're leaving you unharmed because, unlike you, we don't slay our own kind. Maybe you will understand that some day."

"Well, that just leaves you and me, pet," Spike said.

"There is no 'you and me', Spike," replied Buffy.

"I understand," said Spike. "Their rejection hurts, an' you gotta lash out at whomever."

"You may not have noticed," said Buffy through gritted teeth, "but I seem to still be slaying vampires, and yet you're still here. Near me. Do you have a death wish?"

"Don't we all?" he offered casually. "Look, at least temporarily, neither of us has any allies."

"Not true," said Cordelia. "Buffy and I are allies. Who do you have?" Spike could not answer that. "Besides, they said they wouldn't come after us, so I say we're safe for tonight at least."

"'We' does not include Spike," said Buffy, not taking her eyes off of him.

"I say we get out of this part of town," continued Cordelia. "Go find something to eat and a new place to live." She brightened at a thought. "Hey! What if we go eat my family? They have a really cool house, and, besides, I miss my old room."

"I like the way this girl thinks," said Spike.

"Only you would mistake that for thinking," said Buffy.

"Hey!" said Cordelia. "I was ready to put my ass on the line for you. Don't be such an ungrateful bitch."

"And you knew when you were being insulted right off the bat, too," said Buffy. "The new and improved Cordelia."

"Just like with Angel," said Spike.

"What do you mean?" asked Buffy.

"You know what I mean: Angelus is a lot quicker on the uptake than the ensouled model."

"Which reminds me of something I almost forgot," said Buffy.

"What's that?" asked Spike.

"Willow. How soon is she planning this ensouling ritual?"

"Oh, not until tomorrow at the earliest."

"That gives me enough time to have an appetizer before the main course."

"Pretty sure you'll find her, are you?"

"I know Willow. I have an idea where to look."

"Oh, Willow, Willow!" said Cordelia. "Is that brat all you can think of eating? I'd rather eat Snyder."

"Hmm," said Buffy.

"What?" asked Spike.

"Talk about settling old scores."

* * *

><p>Willow and Oz met at the mausoleum and combined their preparation for Oz's transformation into a werewolf with a study date. With all that was going on, Willow had had little time to finish her term paper on inventors. Though it wasn't yet dark, Oz had just put a match to the wicks of a half dozen candles on the ledge by the cage.<p>

"What I wonder is whether a trivial invention like breakfast flakes can be compared to the invention of television," Willow was saying.

"I like corn flakes better," said Oz. He sat opposite Willow in one of the lawn chairs they had brought from the Rosenberg's backyard, but he didn't face her.

"Well, the first cereal flakes were actually wheat flakes, not corn flakes," said Willow.

"Still prefer corn flakes," said Oz.

"Oz, not helping here."

"Oh, sorry. A little distracted."

"Yeah," said Willow, instantly sorry she had snapped at him. When she looked at him again, she could see that he was having one of his pensive moments. He had a lot of them, and it was one of the things that intrigued and frightened her. What was he thinking about?

"Let's not look at whether the inventions are useful or not," said Oz. "From what you've been saying, the real question is who made the crucial contribution."

"Well, yeah," said Willow. "John and Will Kellogg are both credited with inventing cereal flakes, and Philo Farnsworth and Vladimir Zworykin are both credited with inventing television. But in both cases, it was the first one's idea: John Kellogg and Phil Farnsworth."

"You're on a nickname basis with Philo Farnsworth," said Oz. "I'm jealous." Willow shot him a look of mock annoyance before he continued. "It boils down to the term 'crucial contribution'," he said. "Without Will Kellogg's contribution, his big brother, John, didn't actually have flakes, he just had cereal dust. It would be like eating slain vampires."

"Yuck!"

"Only with milk."

"Double yuck! Move on from the undead imagery," suggested Willow.

"OK," said Oz. "Without Zworykin, Farnsworth's television was technically still television. Zworykin made television better, but he didn't invent it, even though he's been credited with it."

"I get it!" said Willow. "Will Kellogg's contribution was more crucial to the invention of cereal flakes than Zworykin's was to the invention of television."

"Yes, although it depends on your point of view."

"How do you mean?" asked Willow.

"Zworykin lowered the amount of light the camera needs to see, which is fairly crucial if you're actually on TV. Farnsworth's lighting had to be so bright, people on TV would need sunblock just to read the news." Willow was laughing at the image of somebody reading the news with lotion on their face when Oz suddenly went into a spasm. The transformation was beginning. Outdoors, the light was failing. "Speaking of a lower amount of light," said Oz.

"Come on," said Willow. "Let's get you into the cage." She helped him—half carried him—through the open iron door. Oz was in genuine pain now. To Willow, it had seemed in the past that the pain was less and less each time, but up close she could tell that it still hurt him a lot. She could feel Oz's heart pounding, feel sweat pouring from his armpits and from the small of his back. The scent affected her strangely, both repellent and appealing at once.

She got him to the middle of the cage where, while thrashing about, he would be less likely to throw himself against the bars. She succeeded in tearing his clutching arm from across the back of her neck and shoulders; then she planted a kiss on his lips before reluctantly backing away. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, her voice breaking with a longing that surprised her: a longing for the Oz who was slipping away from her, who would be restored to her at dawn, but whose loss she felt now as if it were permanent. She went out and locked the cage door behind her.

* * *

><p>Principal Snyder sat alone at his dinner table in his condominium apartment. It was a new building, and thoroughly secure, or so the brochure had said. It had every modern convenience, but the one draw back was that everything was rather small, including the distance from the dining through the living room to front door. Snyder was sipping coffee over a half-eaten slice of apple and a wedge of Velveeta cheese when the doorbell rang. He grunted his annoyance, checked his watch, and walked the few steps to the door. When he opened it, Snyder was shocked to see two of the missing students, Buffy Summers and Cordelia Chase, both wearing black leather outfits and standing there as if they had been invited.<p>

"What's the meaning of this?" asked Snyder angrily. "Where have you been? You two young ladies are in a lot of trouble, I'll tell you that. Do the police know you've come back? Do your parents?"

"So many questions," chirped Buffy condescendingly.

"Yeah, aren't you going to invite us in so we can answer them?" asked Cordelia.

"Of all the nerve!" declared Snyder. But his beady eyes became fixed as he pondered his options. "Oh, very well. Come in, both of you, but only as long as it takes to clear this up. Then I'm calling the police."

"Oh, I don't think there would be any point in that," said Buffy, scanning the apartment as she walked in.

"Nah," added Cordelia.

"I'll be the judge of that, missy," Snyder said to Cordelia. He turned back toward his little dinner table. While his back was to the vampiresses, Cordelia made a face that said, fancy him. Buffy wrinkled her nose in reply, and, as she did, her game face morphed in and out. In a few steps, Snyder was again seated behind his coffee, pie and cheese. "Ms. Summers," he continued, "I never dreamed that you would once again give me the pleasure of having you expelled. If I had realized that it's more fun the second time, I'd have readmitted you sooner. Perhaps next year I would be willing to readmit you again, just for the pleasure of re-expelling you. Of course, you realize that these multiple expulsions—not to mention having to do senior year over again—are going on your permanent record, and if you have any dreams of going on to higher education or ever getting a decent job…."

Buffy brought her eyes within three inches of Snyder's. "I've got news for you, you cheese-eating little gnome: I don't give a crap about my permanent record." She put on her game face and watched the blood drain from Snyder's face. Without turning her glowing green eyes from him, she spoke to Cordelia. "Why don't you start this time?"

"Eww," said Cordelia. "Why do we have to eat gnome? Can't we find a couple of hunky guys to eat?"

"Th-that's right," said Snyder, "You d-don't want me. You want someone who-who's on the-the wrestling team. They're hunky."

"He's making sense to me," said Cordelia.

"He's just bargaining to save his ass, Cord," Buffy, still holding Snyder's terrified gaze. "Blood's blood. Besides, a gnome in hand is worth two hunks in the bush." Buffy broke off her gaze, half turning toward Cordelia. "And that didn't end up quite where I started."

"Can't say the image of hunks in the bush is a turnoff, though," responded Cordelia dreamily.

"Me neither," said Buffy. "Funny, but not long ago I would have blushed at my own double-entendre. Now I just feel… liberated."

"You're feeling like a horny slut," said Cordelia, "I always felt like that."

"No comment," said Buffy. "What do you say we make an appetizer of Snyde-man, here, and then go out and find you a jock boy-toy?"

"Sounds fine to me, sis," said Cordelia. As Buffy and Cordelia pressed their cold lips against either side of his neck, Snyder opened his mouth wide as if intending to scream, but the only sound heard in the room was his death rattle, accompanied by the satisfied slurping and gruntling of the two vampiresses.

Afterward, Cordelia asked, "What's that awful smell?"

"Eww," said Buffy, "Snyder peed himself. And his carpet."

"Some people just aren't civilized," huffed Cordelia.

* * *

><p>"I am sure that this address is familiar," Giles said to Angel as they parked in front the condominium.<p>

"Well, I guess it's also familiar to Buffy or Cordy," said Angel. The two men looked at Cordelia's "Queen C" vanity plate on the sportscar in front of them. A moment later, two figures came skipping out of the front door of the building.

"And there they are," said Giles. "You know that I love Buffy, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let her continue like this." Giles started out of the car with a stake in one hand and a vial of holy water in the other.

"Hold on," said Angel, but although Angel caught up with Giles quickly, so had Cordelia.

"Not exactly my idea of a jock toy, but this'll do," Cordelia said as she knocked Giles down and picked him up with one hand. The vial broke on the sidewalk beneath his feet.

"Let him go!" shouted Angel.

"Or else what?" asked Buffy stepping in Angel's way.

"Buffy," said Angel, and he did not say more, but only moved his lips helplessly.

"'Buffy! Oh, Buffy!'" mocked Buffy in a pittiful tone. "What? Cat got your tongue, Angelus?"

"The name's Angel," he replied.

"And more's the pitty," said Buffy, her lower lip protruding in a pout. Suddenly, Angel punched Buffy with all his speed and might, sending her sprawling on the pavement. He then swiftly smacked Cordelia across her bumpy forehead as she was about to eat Giles. With a yelp the regal vampiress fell back on her rump, but she recovered quickly, rolling away before Angel came in for the kill. He now held the stake Giles had dropped plus one of his own.

Once more, Buffy came at Angel—this time with a flying kick, but he dodged her and managed to get behind her before she could turn. He grabbed her arm in an attempted hold, but before he could follow through, it was she who had him in an armlock. He only freed himself by stomping her foot and then throwing her off balance with an elbow to her chest.

When they separated, instead of continuing to engage her, Angel rushed to where Giles was just climbing to his feet. He handed the watcher both stakes.

Cordelia chortled. "Two stakes are as useless as one for that meat sack," she said. Buffy kicked Angel, and soon led him away from Giles. Cordelia moved in to take him, but Giles crossed the two stakes and held them up to Cordelia's face. The vampiress shielded her eyes, squealing and stepping backward.

Meanwhile, Buffy managed to land a kick, knocking Angel over a low wall which retained the soil around the condominium's hedges. Buffy turned and walked swiftly to Cordelia's side.

"Let's get out of here," Cordelia suggested. "This is no fun." But in an instant Buffy was on top of Giles, forcing him to press the crossed stakes against her chest. With sizzle and smoke, the make-shift cross burned marks into her flesh.

"The trick is not minding the pain," she told him. "And, by the way, you do know you're supposed to stick the pointy parts in me, don't you? But then you never could admit you wanted to put your pointy part in me, you dirty old man." Buffy gave him the back of her hand. In the next instant, she was on her feet and taking Cordelia by the arm. "Let's book, girlfriend," she said to Cordelia.

Angel rushed over to Giles side; the watcher was stunned but all right. Then Angel looked up to see Buffy and Cordelia get into their car and drive away.

* * *

><p>It was nearly midnight when Willow's head jerked up from her book. She thought she had just nodded off, but she couldn't be sure whether she had been dozing for minutes or hours. Her watch read 11:58. It was quiet, but when she listened carefully, Willow could hear a low growl. She looked over at the cage, and saw a four-legged beast where she had left Oz seven hours ago. It was curled up in the middle of the cage, moonlit through the high barred window.<p>

Suddenly the door of the mausoleum crashed open, and Buffy came in, dressed in a black leather jumpsuit and walking in an easy, confident stride. "One of my old haunts," she observed cheerily. "How could you hope to hide from me here?"

A chill went through Willow, but she said, "I wasn't trying to hide."

"Should've. Especially since you're the only one who could perform that ensouling ritual. I have a problem with that."

"What problem?"

"I was miserable with a soul. I was miserable with that dreary excuse for a life. Could never have what I wanted. Ever." As Buffy paced back and forth in front of the door, Willow looked about the room for a way out, even though she knew there wasn't one. She saw Oz-wolf raise his head, looking with interest in Buffy's direction. "There are two ways to do this, Will. One is that I could just eat you. That would suit me fine, even though I'm not especially hungry. Just ate a few hours ago."

"Not anyone I know, I hope," said Willow, edging toward Oz's cage.

"Well, no one you care about anyway," replied Buffy. "But that's only option one. Option two is that I could turn you into one of me. Well, you wouldn't be me, exactly. You'd be vampire Willow, whatever that would be like. I'm going to leave it up to you. Actually, though, I'd be curious to see you as a vampire."

"No, thanks," replied Willow.

"Well, we'll see," said Buffy. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

"N-nowhere," said Willow. "I'm just nervous. I'm moving around because you make me nervous."

"Aw, you don't have to be nervous—although I find it keenly flattering that you are."

"I don't suppose you'd give me until tomorrow night to think about becoming a vampire," said Willow.

Buffy laughed. "Oh, clever Will. No, I don't think I'll fall for that one, and neither did you, right? You know, I told Cordy about the choice I was going to give you, and she didn't want to come."

"Why not?"

"Oh, Will, you know. Cordelia never liked you. Still doesn't. Doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Says the last thing she wants to do is eat you, and if I bring you back as a vampire, she'll never speak to me again. Why does she think that's a threat? I wish she would promise."

"If you don't like Cordelia, then why did you turn her?"

"Good question. Wish I knew. I guess I didn't want to be lonely. No, that's not it. Cordelia made my life hell. I think I wanted a little payback."

"Then why make me a vampire?"

"Not because I ever liked you. Don't fool yourself. For some reason, though, I didn't hate you as much as I hated Cordelia. I remember that."

"I thought so."

"Thought what?"

"You only half remember Buffy's likes and dislikes because you're not Buffy. Buffy's gone."

"See, Will, that's what you call profound. With Cordelia around, I miss profound observations. All you get from Cordy is the obvious."

"You know," said Willow, "I've known the real Buffy for two years, and I actually thought of her as my hero. I would have given anything to be like her. Now, well, I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather die than become like you."

"I can live with that," said Buffy. Then, she cocked her head to one side. "Or should I say 'I can exist with that'? You see, I could have used you to check my grammar. Now I'll just have to get Microsoft Word."

"Their spelling and grammar checkers are full of bugs," said Willow. "You can't rely on them."

At that, Buffy lunged for Willow who hurled a chair at her. Buffy knocked it aside as if it were made of lightweight aluminum-which it was, in fact. Willow grabbed a candlestick in each hand and waved them near Buffy's face and hair. Buffy stepped back.

"Oops! Wouldn't want to burst into flame, would you?" taunted Willow, but Buffy had already moved in and fearlessly knocked the candles out of her hands. One landed on the volume of notes Willow had spent the evening writing. For a moment, Willow felt sickened to see all of that work crisping and curling in the spreading flame; then she realized that that was the least of her worries. She rolled and tumbled across the floor and hit her head and shoulders against the door of the cage. It was enough to stun her, but only for an instant. Buffy was upon her in the next instant, dragging her to her feet by the throat. Behind Willow, inside the cage, Oz-wolf was thrashing around and growling now. He bounced off of the bars and made them rattle against Willow's back.

"Thanks," said Buffy. "I really needed to work up an appetite."

"No problem," rasped Willow.

"Still, are you sure you don't want me to turn you into a vampire? I could still do it. I think you'd make a badass vampire."

"I doubt it," replied Willow working her arms behind her. "Black leather doesn't suit me." With that, she turned the key, unlocking the cage. Then, with all of her remaining strength, Willow placed the soles of her sneakers against the bars and launched herself forward. Buffy was only holding her up and was unprepared to prevent Willow's forward motion; Buffy nearly lost her own balance. She let go of Willow for just a moment but went after her almost immediately. She was picking Willow off of the floor when suddenly something sank its teeth into Buffy's left shoulder. She let go of Willow, brought the palm of her right hand across her body and over her left shoulder to meet the snout of Oz-wolf. The werewolf yelped in pain, but the impact of his pounce had been enough to bring Buffy down. Willow just managed to roll out from under them as the vampire and werewolf crashed to the floor, kicking up dust so that it nearly reached the high ceiling. Willow crawled into a corner and watched in amazement as the two creatures rolled across the room like some cartoon catfight. Oz-wolf maintained a grip on Buffy's shoulder however much she punished him with fists, elbows, knees and feet. "That's my Oz," said Willow.

Breaking free at last, Buffy faced off against Oz-wolf, but he fearlessly pounced again and again as Buffy barely managed to keep him at bay. Backing to the mausoleum's entrance, Buffy glanced ruefully in Willow's direction before opening the door with a foot and swiftly gliding through the narrow aperture. It closed firmly and loudly behind her.

Now Willow realized that she might have escaped the frying pan only to fall into the fire. Oz-wolf turned and glared at her, his eyes like burning coals. He growled and walked across the room. Willow tensed. Oz-wolf went back into his cage and curled up in the middle where he began methodically licking his wounds. Willow wobbled as she climbed to her feet, walked the few steps to the door of his cage and closed it again. Before she would lock it, she went to the mausoleum door and determined that the lock was broken. She spent the rest of the night sitting with the tranquilizer gun in her lap, daring neither to lock the cage nor fall asleep, and praying that Buffy did not return.

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 3. The sun shone on Oz from the grate high up in his cell. His naked body had once again returned to human form. As he stirred, he noticed that his modesty blanket had fallen from its clothesline during the night; assuming that he had brought it down himself in a fit of restlessness, he thought nothing of it. He grabbed his trousers and pulled them on. But before he could don his shirt he noticed Willow sitting against the wall with the tranquilizer gun cradled in her lap. She seemed to be dozing. Her hair hung in a stringy drizzle from her bobbing head. Her clothes were dusty and disheveled. He put his hands on the cage door and was startled when it swung open easily. Then he rushed to Willow's side.

"Will! Willow, wake up!" he shouted, shaking her left shoulder as he crouched beside her.

Willow's head snapped up. She looked Oz in the eyes. "Oz! Oh, Oz! Thank God! You're back!"

"Yeah, Babe, I'm here. But what happened last night?"

Between tears and kisses, Willow told Oz what had transpired. When she was done, Oz looked around the room and saw the charred note pad.

"Oh damn," said Willow, following his gaze; her lower lip curled into a pout. "That's my homework. I was going to go to school as soon as they open today and type it into the computer during my free period. Now what am I going to tell Ms. Barton—that a vampire version of Buffy Summers made me burn my homework?"

"You gotta admit," said Oz, "Ms. Barton's probably never heard that one before."

"Oz!"

"What?"

"Oz, we can't go to school today! I have to get the orb and perform the spell with Giles right away. You'll help me, won't you?"

"You know I will."

* * *

><p>Not long after dawn, Spike plodded through the sewer beneath Sunnydale. He could smell the blood of someone familiar; a vampire he knew was up ahead. He rounded a bend and there was Buffy, inspecting a nasty gash on her arm that she hadn't had when he last saw her only hours ago; yet Spike could see that this wound was already healing.<p>

"Well, well," said Spike. "The mighty have fallen on hard times."

"I'm not in the mood, Spike."

"Got a headache, have you."

"Why don't you go somewhere so you can be alone and masturbate?" suggested Buffy.

"Already done that today," he said casually. "Licking your wounds, I see. What did you tangle with, a werewolf?" Buffy shot him a look. "Good guess, eh?"

"Leave it alone, Spike."

"My lucky day," said Faith, startling them both. "Two vamps for the price of one."

"Hello, Slayer," said Buffy rising to her feet. "Sounds strange coming from me, doesn't it?"

"Music to my ears, B. You're just another vamp to me now, and I'll be glad to dust you. So what'll it be? One at a time or both at once?"

"Stay out of this, Spike," Buffy ordered.

"Sure," said Spike. "I don't care."

* * *

><p>In the upstairs room she was using at the Summers' home, Willow sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, her back cushioned by some throw pillows propped against the wall. She first cast stones marked with runes. Then she placed the orb of Thesulah in front of her. Oz knelt beside her, igniting incense and herbs. Giles consulted a leather-bound book embossed in faded gold with a title in Latin.<p>

"Are you ready?" he asked her.

"As I'll ever be," she said lifting the printout of the spell that Jenny Calendar had given her life to translate.

* * *

><p>Buffy pitched Faith's body across the tunnel. The Slayer banged her hip against the wall and bumped a knee on the floor, but righted herself immediately.<p>

"That had to hurt," said Buffy.

"No big," said Faith. She advanced toward Buffy with caution, however. Spike sat on a ledge and lit a cigarette.

"Hey, Spike," said Buffy, without taking her eyes off of Faith. "The last time I was down here, I think I overheard the Mayor say something about a gas leak. Do you mind?"

"Oh, sorry," Spike said as he crushed out his smoke.

* * *

><p>The orb of Thesulah began to glow as Oz waved smoking incense. Giles intoned, "Quod perditum est, invenietur."<p>

Willow began to read her text:

"Not dead, yet not of the living, Spirits of the interregnum, I call upon thee.

"Gods, bind her. Cast her heart from the evil realm.

"Return to the body that which separates woman from beast."

Suddenly, Willow's eyelids fluttered and her head lolled. Giles watched her carefully, but he met Oz's worried look with an assuring nod and gestured to him to continue waving the smoking herbs and incense. When Willow spoke again, it was in an almost alien voice:

"Nici mort, nici de al fiintei,

"Te invoc, spirit al trecerii.

"Reda trupului ce separa femeia de animal.

"Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul ea.

"Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte.

"Asa sa fie. Repede! Acum!

Utrespur aceastui. Repede! Acum!"

At this, the orb of Thesulah brightened like a bulb about to go out and then did.

* * *

><p>Faith struggled, but Buffy held her tightly and was about to sink her teeth into her neck. "This has to be a first," said Spike cantering back and forth a few feet from this struggle. "Ex-Slayer-turned-vampire about to bag another Slayer. You gonna turn her or just eat her?"<p>

"What's it to you?" asked Buffy.

"Well, either way, is there any chance I could have a taste?"

Just then, Buffy's eyes glowed as her soul returned. In self-disgust, she let go of Faith and jumped backward. Faith turned and lunged toward Buffy nearly landing a punch. Buffy defended herself but did not counterattack.

"What happened, love?" asked Spike. "I thought you had 'er."

"I'm Buffy," said Buffy to Faith. "The old Buffy."

"Nice try," said Faith. "Off the wall, but, I get it: Psych!"

Buffy looked pleadingly at Faith. "I'm sorry for all of the horrible things I've done, but I couldn't help it. I was a vampire. Well, I guess I still am, but... I must be like Angel now! Willow did it! She must have returned my soul. You've got to believe me, Faith!"

"I think you need to try a new tactic," suggested Spike. "Clearly, she's not buyin' it."

"Shut up, Spike, or I'll help her slay you!"

"A little too deep into character, aren't we?" said Spike warily.

"Well, here's the thing, B," said Faith. "I don't care! I'm not like you. When Angel got his soul back, you went all soft; you see, I wouldn't have."

"What do you mean I went soft, you idiot?" shouted Buffy. "You don't know anything about it! I sent Angel to HELL! And I'd do it again. It was just that it hurt."

"Well, B, that's my point. Soul or no soul, I don't care, and I'll dust you in a New York minute, without batting an eye!"

"Well, if I can interrupt this pig pile of the cliches," interrupted Spike, "I don't pretend to know who's what here, and I'm leaving." With that, Spike turned and ran, leaving Faith and Buffy to continue their fight. Faith attacked; Buffy parried and retreated, feinted and retreated. Faith aggressively punched and kicked; Buffy fought back but with lessening verve.

Then, with a sweeping kick, Faith took Buffy's legs out from under her. Now Faith sat astride Buffy, pressing a stake downward toward her heart. "Faith, it's me," Buffy said, effort straining in her voice. "It's Buffy." Closer and closer, the point approached Buffy's breast bone.

"Sure," said Faith through gritted teeth. "My old pal, Buffy, was just trying to drain my blood! You vile bitch!"

"Think, Faith: why do you think I stopped?... I'm back... Something's changed... in me."

"I'll tell you... what's changed," replied Faith. "You're going to hell... where you belong." Spike came up behind Faith and grabbed her, forcing the Slayer to draw back the stake. But the sputtering, fuming, utterly riled Faith, using all of her strength, proved too much for Spike. She managed to free herself from his grip, elbowed him in the groin and neatly jumped to her feet, landing on her feet, stake still in her hand. Meanwhile, Buffy had been able to crawl away from them. Confused, she was slow to stand up.

"Thought you didn't care," said Faith, catching her breath.

"I always reserve the right to change my mind," Spike said.

"That's your prerogative as a woman," said Faith dryly. "Now, I'm going to slay both of you."

"Either help or run," said Spike to Buffy without looking at her.

Sensing her own vulnerability, Buffy backed away, and when she got far enough, she turned and began to run. Behind her she could hear a grunt from Faith followed by a loud blow probably connecting with Spike's body. They could be heard exchanging blows and shouts for a long way down the tunnel. Buffy felt guilty about abandoning one of them to the other, but she could not decide which one.

* * *

><p>The last thirty feet as Buffy approached the Summers' front porch seemed like thirty miles. She had waited until dark. During the day, she had found her way through an underground tunnel to Angel's, but he had not been home. Otherwise she had struggled with unbidden memories of the people she had tortured and killed or, worse, turned into monsters—all of this in less than a week. Now she trudged forward, eyes fixed on the door of the house. Though she felt weak, her knock was firm enough that she immediately heard bustling and voices within. The door opened and her mother stood for a moment as if paralyzed.<p>

"Buffy?" she said in disbelief.

"Hi, Mom."

Suddenly her mother reached out but hesitated. "You're still a vampire, aren't you?" she said, fear etched on her face, but then she gave in to impulse and hugged her daughter.

"It's OK, Mom," said Buffy, burying her face in her mother's hair. "It's really me. I'm back."

"Buffy?" said Willow coming up behind Joyce. Joyce released Buffy and the two schoolmates looked at each other. "It worked?" Willow asked.

"Of course it worked," replied Buffy. "I have a good friend who's a great witch."

Giles entered the room as Willow and Buffy embraced. He attempted to polish his lenses while he waited his turn, but Joyce went to him, beaming, and took his hand in hers. Buffy noticed but suppressed her reaction, not quite certain what her reaction was or what it should be. Then she embraced Giles. When the hugs were done, Buffy became serious.

"Did Faith ever show up?" she asked.

"No, not yet," said Giles.

"The last I saw her, she was battling Spike, and I have no idea which one survived," Buffy said sheepishly. "I'm not proud of it, but I couldn't stay and protect her."

"I'm sure she can take care of herself," said Giles, but he looked worried.

"Maybe Angel could find her," suggested Buffy. "I went by his place, but no one was home."

"He's been out searching for you, actually," said Giles.

"Then he agreed to watch Oz tonight," said Willow, "just in case—you know, in case the spell didn't work, and you showed up there again all homicide-y."

"Does he know about the spell?" Buffy asked.

"Why, yes," said Giles. "I hope it was all right to tell him, but I thought he needed to know."

"Of course," said Buffy, "but we have another problem. Cordelia is still out there, and she's planning to hit the Bronze tonight to see who she can scare up... so to speak."

Willow sucked her breath in. "My God! Xander is at the Bronze!" she said.

"Death and mayhem all about and the Xan-man is still party boy," Buffy observed.

"Not quite," said Giles. "Believe it or not, he's there on orders from me to see if there is any vampire activity, but I told him quite firmly that he is to report back here immediately if there is anything at all. I told him not to do anything foolish."

"Not exactly easy instructions for Xander to follow," said Willow apologetically.

"He may not have much choice. He's just the guy Cordelia would most love to..." Buffy hesitated, "...see. I'd better get over there."

"I'll go with you," said Giles.

"No," said Buffy. "I've already put all of you in enough danger for one week. Besides, if Cordy sees me coming with any of you, she might get wise and I'd lose the element of surprise."

"She doesn't know you've changed?" asked Giles.

"No."

"But you just got home," said Joyce. "Do you really have to go out again?"

Buffy hugged her again. "Mom, I'm sorry, but I have to, and what's more, since I've changed, I'm afraid I've become even more of a night person than I used to be."

"Just be careful, dear."

"I will."

Taking a familiar shortcut to the Bronze, Buffy walked through a dark alley. This was not foolhardiness: from now on, the darkest alley in the most dangerous city would be safer than anywhere in the open in Sunnydale. Buffy now had many enemies in both the light and the dark; so she took the most obscure path in order to avoid unnecessary confrontations.

"Hey, B," called a familiar voice. Faith stepped out from a dark doorway and struck a martial pose. She charged and tried for a kick, but Buffy ducked, parried and delivered a punch.

"Believe it or not, I'm glad to see you survived your fight with Spike," said Buffy.

"Yeah, I'll bet you're even happier that your boyfriend made it, too," replied Faith.

"He's not my boyfriend!" shouted Buffy as she blocked a kick from Faith and delivered one of her own.

"Coulda fooled me," said Faith. "Don't know why else he woulda come back for you."

"He's still not my boyfriend!" yelled Buffy as she noticed that, in spite of her soul, she was having difficulty suppressing a primordial vampire urge to kill a Slayer. Out of her fury, she let loose a kick. Faith slid under it and swept Buffy off of her feet. Buffy fell hard and yet bounced back onto her feet in time to get a pummeling from Faith. Then Faith delivered a kick that sent Buffy into a set of garbage cans that crashed about loudly. As Buffy struggled back to her feet and put up her guard, Faith drew a stake from her belt and came toward her. The Slayer began to weave in and out of Buffy's space, searching for openings.

"Faith, stop!" called Giles as he emerged from the dark behind the Slayer. "You don't want to do this."

"I don't?" asked Faith. "Right. The Council would probably only reward me for killing a vampire, especially one that tried to drink my blood only this morning. They might even let me choose my own watcher. At least that's what someone told me."

"You know that Buffy has changed," said Giles.

"What makes you so sure I do?" asked Faith.

"Because I trust your ability to know such things," Giles said.

"Why do I need to play by your goody-goody rules?" asked Faith. "Don't the lives I save every night entitle me to make up my own rules?"

"Very well," said Giles turning and walking away. "Go ahead and slay her."

"Hey!" said Buffy, "thanks a lot."

Ignoring Buffy, Giles continued, "But you know that the creature you'll be slaying is not the same as the one that tried to kill you this morning. You know she is different."

He continued to move away, and, in spite of herself, Faith backed away from Buffy and toward him as she said, "Answer me! Why don't I deserve to decide what's right? I'm the only one with the strength and skill…"

"…to fight the vampires and demons and stop their evil," Giles finished for her. "Being on the side of good means having to play by a set of rules not as easy as the rules the other side plays by. We can't play by their rules, Faith, or we'll lose everything that we're fighting for.

"Look, we can't destroy someone only because of what they might do. I know you have it in you to cross that line, but you know deep down that as long as Buffy or Angel or any other creature has a soul, they have a potential to do good; as long as they are not against us, we have no right to slay them arbitrarily. We destroy vampires because it is in their natures to do evil—most vampires. You know in your heart that Buffy, now, like Angel, is different."

"So what if she is different?" asked Faith. "How do you know Buffy or Angel won't turn evil again?"

"I don't, and if they do, then I'll be the first to commend you for slaying them—if they turn evil."

"So what happens now?" asked Faith, near tears of frustration. "I suppose I go back to being Buffy's shadow."

"What are you talking about?" asked Buffy. "You aren't in competition with me anymore. I'm a vampire. Remember? You are the Slayer now."

"Someday perhaps both of you will realize that you were never in competition—or never had to be, anyway." With these words, Giles came close enough to touch Faith. "There are more than enough vampires in the world for more than two slayers. But Buffy is right, Faith. You are the one and only Slayer now. And if you will have me, my offer to be your watcher still stands."

Faith looked up at Giles. She was palpably struggling within herself as if compelled by conflicting urges to throw her arms around him, escape him or—failing that—rip his throat out. She finally hugged him so hard that something in his body cracked noisily. "Sorry," she said loosening her grip.

"Not at all," he said. "If anything, I feel better now. Perhaps you have a dual career ahead of you: Slayer by night, chiropractor by day." Faith laughed through her tears. "Do you mind if I have a brief word with Buffy?" he asked.

Go ahead," she replied. "Take your time."

"That was some speech," Buffy said as Giles approached her.

"Thank you," said Giles. "The pitty is that tomorrow I wont be able to recall a word of it."

It was Buffy's turned to laugh as she wondered where this newfound sense of humor had come from—or had it always been there? "I wanted to apologize for that dirty old man crack last night," she said.

"Don't worry about it," he advised.

"I don't know where that came from," Buffy said.

"Really, don't worry about it. There is always sexual tension between people who live or work closely together. I believe that you and I always had just enough emotional maturity to understand that the affection between us was based on respect and, I think, on my part at least, admiration. Vampire Buffy, on the other hand, could never understand not acting on every impulse in the most perverse way. She-she couldn't understand what you and I had—what she still remembered—so she sexualized it." He half turned toward Faith but thought better of it. "Thank you for reminding me, though, because I fear I will need to be on my guard more with her than I was with you. I suspect that she may be less able to tell the difference between a gesture of affection and a violation."

"Good luck," said Buffy.

"Thank you," he said.

"You'll need it." Whey they hugged then, Buffy realized that, even though they might see each other in the future, this was a kind of goodbye.

Giles turned and walked to where Faith stood waiting for him.

"By the way," said Buffy.

He turned back toward her. "Yes?"

"The admiration? It's mutual," said Buffy. Giles smiled and turned back toward Faith. He placed a hand cautiously on her shoulder and guided her away. "Hey, Giles," added Buffy. "Didn't I tell you not to follow me?"

"Fortunately," said Giles, neither stopping nor turning around this time, "I am not your watcher anymore; so I don't have to follow your orders."

"Does that mean you have to follow mine?" asked Faith.

"No," said Giles firmly.

* * *

><p>The Bronze was enveloped in the seductive, rhythmic patter of a drum. Over the thump of the base, rapidly tickled strings hypnotically joined in with a steady rhythm that transformed into a tune. The bouncy music was distinctly Middle Eastern, driving yet playful. Center stage, a dark-haired woman stood in a golden, tassle-adorned belly-dancing costume, swaying and luxuriantly crying in song. Xander saw the pleading of her gestures and looks and heard the painful yearning as she variously drew out the syllables of the same short words: singing them over and over, yet making them fresh each time. Without knowing any Arabic, he understood that she was pleading with her lost love to come back to her.<p>

Xander sat alone in a cushioned chair next to a table that primarily served the adjacent couch, which held a cheery threesome—a girl sandwiched between two boys. Both males seemed to be interested in her, and she basked in the attention, showing no favoritism so far as Xander could tell. Then again, he was not paying that much attention to them; rather, he was nursing his own yearning and a coffee set precariously on his end of the little table.

The singer seemed to take turns with the instruments: now part of the rhythm, now back to carrying the melody; her voice wove around and around the strings and drum. A dozen people were on the dance floor. They swayed, seduced by the hypnotic music: the drums and strings as well as the voice of the singer who, according to the sign on the board outside of the Bronze, was named Natacha Atlas.

Xander gazed almost incuriously at the dancing couples until he noticed the familiar form of Cordelia Chase, dancing alone. She undulated seductively and swayed with an unearthly fluidness. A nearby couple left the floor abruptly when the girl caught her partner ogling Cordelia. Another youth approached and began to dance closer and closer to Cordelia, orbiting her body like a planet around a star. At first, with eyes closed, Cordelia seemed to ignore him. She raised her hands high above her head, put her palms together, dipped slightly and opened her eyes, looking directly at the boy.

Xander could hardly believe that Cordelia was here—so vividly present—and flirting with another guy. The crowd was caught up in the fevered beat and haunting plaint, as Atlas approached a climactic intensity; Cordelia's new partner was caught up in a fever more intense than that of those about him. Xander's mouth opened as he watched Cordelia glide up to her dance partner and turn her body in a full-contact pirouette. The fellow got an extended feel of her body—all around—against his. Cordelia took his hand and swung under his extended arm just as Atlas and her band ended their song with the sound of a gong. Cordelia smiled radiantly at her partner, and he smiled too as she backed toward the door, drawing him with her. Xander noted with awe that she never seemed to look where she was going. He thought that Cordelia must either have eyes in the back of her head or else somehow was making the crowd part so that she never had to take her eyes from her victim. When she had nearly lured the boy out of the door, Xander suddenly realized that he was witnessing not simply Cordelia's betrayal of Xander, but her intended murder of her partner. Without stopping to ask himself how he could stop it, he followed them out of the club.

By the time he had elbowed through the crowd and out onto the street, Xander could no longer see Cordelia or her would-be boy-snack. He anxiously looked up and down the street; then he listened keenly and heard the rattle of a storm fence and a single yelp—both of which came from the alley around the corner.

Dashing to the scene, he arrived just in time to see a game-faced Cordelia finish draining her victim who then slid down the fence into a limp sitting position. Cordelia looked at Xander slyly as blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth. With two flicks of her tongue she cleaned each corner.

"I thought you might follow us," said Cordelia, shaking off her game face.

Xander hesitated. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked from Cordelia to the body at her feet.

"Aww," she said. "Why the tears? Happy to see me?"

"It's 'cause, even though I know you aren't Cordelia anymore," he said, "I can't help seeing her in you."

"Well, excuse me, but from my point of view, I'm better off this way than I was as that clueless victim."

"I just can't stand losing you this way," said Xander.

"Oh, there's some better way you'd rather lose me?"

"Maybe any other way. No. That's not true." Xander mused, seeming to forget where he was. Then his eyes fell again on the body leaning against the storm fence. "I can't say I enjoyed seeing you giving that poor guy a vertical lap dance."

"Aw, come on and admit it: it turned you on just a little, right?" she said in a sultry voice.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Cordelia put her game face back on. "You didn't just follow me out to be all loserish and moralistic, did you? I think you came along because you knew that once I did this guy I would be too sated to simply eat you. I might consider turning you into a vampire, too."

"You're insane!"

"Am I? Whatever. The fact is, now that we're here alone, I'm not going to just let you walk away. But the good news is that you were right: I am inclined to make you one of me. If we can just get rid of that goofy human 'tude, you might just make a decent boy-toy. You'd like being a boy-toy wouldn't you? It'd sure be a step up from the usual self-abuse." Cordelia advanced as Xander backed away. "Now, now, Nighthawk," she said, mocking the heroic-sounding codename Xander had adopted the previous summer. "You haven't got a chance of getting away or—don't make me laugh—of slaying me." She suddenly looked at something over Xander's shoulder. "Make that zero chance of surviving at all if Buffy's hungry."

Xander wheeled about to see Buffy approaching them rapidly. "Oh, my God!" he cried in despair.

In the next instant, Buffy was upon them and delivered a flying kick to Cordelia's head. Xander was able to step out of the way; afterward, though he considered running for his life, his legs would not move any further. His eyes were fixed on the battle before him.

Buffy tried not to let Cordelia recover from the kick; she pummelled Cordelia with punches and more kicks, but Cordelia rolled out of the way and took Buffy down with a kick. Both vampiresses popped back up and then squared off.

"Forget it," said Cordelia. "I have dibs on Xander, and whatever you've got planned, I'm turning him."

"Not if I can help it," replied Bufly.

"Oh, give me a break! Buffy has to get all the guys in death as in life? I think not!" Cordelia threw a kick followed by a punch. Both connected and Buffy stumbled. As Cordelia moved in to deliver more punishing blows, Buffy recovered and struck back.

Her counterattack did not last, however. Cordelia quickly regained the upper hand and bashed Buffy twice with a handy length of rebar. When this brought Buffy to her knees, Cordelia flung aside the rebar and kicked Buffy's head, sending her sprawling backward. Cordelia looked around until her eye's fixed on what she was looking for: a wooden lath lying broken in the gutter six feet to Xander's left. She went toward it, only stopping long enough by Xander to acknowledge him with the words: "Don't go too far, lover." Suddenly, Xander brought the rebar up from where he had hidden it at his side. Cordelia walked right into it. The rebar sank into her mid-section and came out of her back. She stopped and looked down in disbelief. She then looked at Xander and, with a flash of fury in her eyes, backhanded him so hard that his feet left the ground. He crashed against the storm fence and was knocked unconscious. He slid down the fence and settled next to Cordelia's earlier victim.

Buffy came at Cordelia from behind, but Cordelia turned around quickly, just in time to hit Buffy in the side with the rebar that still stuck out of her. Buffy went down but rolled into the gutter. In a split second she saw and grabbed the lath. She was on her feet an instant later, the stake in her raised right hand.

Cordelia, with obvious pain etched on her face, pulled the rebar out, held it before her like a two-handed sword, and glared at her adversary. "Seeing you with a stake in your hand brings back memories," said Cordelia bitterly.

"It's all coming back to me like you wouldn't believe," replied Buffy.

Cordelia looked determined, but then, in the next moment, looked woozy. "You trying to tell me you've switched sides—again?"

"Yeah, well, you know that little business about the Orb of Thesulah?" said Buffy. "I kinda failed to stop that."

"Bummer. So you have your soul again?" asked Cordelia. Buffy did not reply but only shifted her stance. "Oh, the hell with it," Cordelia said. Throwing aside the rebar, she turned and ran away, barely pausing long enough to say. "Do whatever you want with Xander."

Buffy started to follow, but pain made her stop and put a hand to her side where she felt a tenderness that suggested broken ribs. A few feet away, Xander moaned. Buffy went over to him, knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Xander looked up with groggy eyes for a long, silent moment before he recognized her. "Ahhh!" he cried as he jerked his shoulder out of her grasp. Eyes wide with fear, he desperately searched about him with his hands, for what Buffy could only guess. He felt the body of the boy next to him and recoiled. Then he crossed his index fingers and held them up between himself and Buffy. "Get back, fiend!" he yelled.

"Xander, don't be afraid."

"You just won the right to make me your boy-toy before you drain me dry!"

"Huh?" said Buffy. "No, look, Xander, it's me, Buffy. Well, not the completely human Buffy, but I've got my soul back. Willow's spell worked."

"It did? Buffy? It's really you?"

"It's really me, Xander."

One of Xander's hands approached her tentatively, resting lightly on her shoulder as she put her hands on his shoulders. He hesitated, but finally said, "Oh, what the hell," before embracing her.

In the distance, police sirens grew in Doppler intensity. "Let's get you back to Robello Drive," Buffy suggested. At first, Xander just sat and shivered, but once Buffy helped him to his feet, it was not difficult to persuade him to leave.

* * *

><p>Chapter Five<p>

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 4. Soon after dawn, Oz came to Willow after his second night in the mausoleum. Without a word, they sat down on the sleeping bag in her room. It hadn't been slept in by anyone. "I'd suggest getting more comfortable furniture in here," said Oz at last, "but I suppose you'll move back home today."

"That's what I mean to do," said Willow, grateful for something to say that did not touch on the confession she wanted to make—did not really want to make.

"You feeling guilty about blowing off school yesterday?" Oz asked.

"Surprisingly, not so much," said Willow. "I guess I knew that I blew it off for a good cause, even if no one would ever believe me."

"Well, you got the better deal," said Oz. "I got there by second period, and everyone had already gone home because of Snyder's death."

"Any tears?" asked Willow. She knew about Snyder's murder—and that Buffy and Cordelia were responsible, but it had never occurred to her that school might be cancelled because of it.

"Not really," allowed Oz. "Maybe a gasp or two."

"It's the only time Snyder's ever made Sunnydale High's student body happy, isn't it?"

"Pretty much," said Oz. Then he added: "As soon as you've packed up, I'll give you a ride home."

"Oz, there's something I have to confess. About Xander. And me."

"Oh?" said Oz.

"We've kinda been playin' footsie lately."

Oz looked puzzled. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and say, 'uh huh'."

"Nothing's happened," she assured him hurriedly, "but it's been weird. There have been times when we almost kissed, I think, and-and there's been touching, you know, not like when we were just old friends, not-not..."

"Innocent?" Oz filled in.

"Yeah," said Willow. She wanted to say more, but, at the moment, she could not remember what she had wanted to say, or the order in which she had wanted to say it.

"So, are you saying you want to break up with me and go out with Xander?" Oz asked.

"Oh, God! No, Oz, I don't. In fact, I'm pretty sure—no, I'm completely sure it's over between Xander and me. Well, I admit the whole thing with Cordy turning into a vampire had something to do with it. That made it easier; not easy in a bad sense but in a good sense. Anyway, it is over, and, really, I don't think anything was ever going to happen anyway."

"Then why did you have to tell me about it?" asked Oz.

"I don't know, I guess because it was making me feel so guilty."

"Maybe you aren't happy with me," he said.

"But I am," she said. "It's just that... sometimes I don't know whether you're really happy with me."

"How come?"

"Because—and this'll probably sound corny and, even, maybe, too demanding but-but you've always been such a gentleman that—I don't know if you ever want to go to another level and..."

"You're wondering whether I'm interested in you sexually," he suggested. Willow just looked at him, relieved that he had said it. "Look," he continued, "I'm just waiting for the time to be right—for you to be sure that you're ready. For us to be sure."

"How do we know when that is?"

"I just think that we'll know."

"Does this mean you forgive me?"

"Well, since nothing happened, I guess—from my point of view—there's nothing to forgive," he said, "but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you."

"Oh, thanks, Oz. And you're right. Nothing happened and nothing would have happened," she said. "I'm sure of it."

* * *

><p>Joyce and Giles sat on the Summers' couch. Their fingers flirted but they couldn't quite bring themselves to hold hands.<p>

"How can she be a vampire Slayer and a vampire, too?" Joyce asked. "I feel like a parent must feel when her daughter turns out not only to be Goth but into S&M as well—and it would be a huge favor if you forgot I ever said that."

"Done," said Giles.

"Oh, my God!" said Joyce. "Will she be able to stay in Sunnydale? Does she have to leave town now?"

Giles thought carefully. "I don't know whether or not it will come to that, but it might. In the foreseeable future, however, I am hoping she will stay to help us avert an impending crisis. I know that Buffy tries to protect you from the things we deal with, but we have a rather dangerous opponent at present, and we're going to need all of the help we can get to defeat him. That includes Faith and Angel—and Buffy, if she is willing to stay."

"Then what?"

"Beyond that, you will have to ask her, Joyce, because I don't know."

"Aren't you still her watcher?"

"I'm afraid not. The Council rather frowns on watchers mentoring vampires—even ones with souls. Besides, she doesn't need me any more. It might seem redundant to say that Buffy has grown up too fast, but I'm afraid that every vestige of her innocence has gone completely now."

"Then, my daughter really is lost to me."

"Not lost, because I am sure she still needs you in the way that grown children always continue to need their parents."

"She doesn't need you any more, either, does she, Rupert?"

"No."

"What will you do?"

"I'm to be Faith's watcher now."

"Faith," Joyce said thoughtfully. "Do you think she might want to come live with me, if Buffy can't live here anymore?"

"Do-do you think you're ready to take on parenting another teenager?"

"Do you think I shouldn't?"

"Well, it would be a great help to me if you would, but I must warn you: if you thought that rearing Buffy was difficult, you'll find that Faith is more than a challenge."

"We'll just have to see about that," said Joyce. She interlaced her fingers with Giles', and they leaned against each other.

* * *

><p>Buffy and Angel leaned against the couch by the fireplace at his mansion. They stared into the flames for a long time before Buffy spoke. "This is so majorly strange," she said.<p>

"Name something that isn't strange about all of this," said Angel.

"I meant being a vampire."

"That's a big one."

"Did I ever tell you it was the thing that I feared most?"

"You once told me that," he said. "Now it's happened."

"Not only happened," she said. "I've gone through it and come out the other side, kinda. But, then, you've been there, done that."

"More times than I care to remember."

"Remembering is the hard part," said Buffy. "Not just remembering what I did as Buffy the Vampire, but remembering my old life as the Slayer. When I had that, I didn't want it. Now I can't go back to it even though I'd love to."

"You could still live with your mom," Angel suggested. "Maybe she could fix up a coffin for you in the basement."

"Don't kid around," said Buffy, slugging his arm.

"Sorry, but why couldn't you stay in touch with your mom?"

"Could I?" she almost pleaded. "When I'll never know when I might become evil again and turn on the very people I love?"

"You can't live like that," said Angel, shaking his head. "Take it from me: what-ifs are a waste of time."

"And what's going to happen to us, Angel?" she asked. "Do we dare keep on seeing each other even though the next time we can't control our feelings could mean we both turn evil at once? What happens to my family and friends then?"

"Definitely wouldn't be a good idea for us to live together," he said. "That's for sure." He looked back at the fire. "We have to stay and defeat the Mayor, but, after that, it might be a good idea for one of us to leave town."

"Maybe we should both leave," she said. Because his head was turned, Buffy could not see the tear running down Angel's cheek. "We should go to opposite ends of the earth so that neither of us ever knows where the other is," she added, her own tears flowing.

* * *

><p>Mayor Wilkins sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, making notes on a pad. Allan Finch sat in the other, consulting a few stapled leaves of paper. Finch was saying: "I am afraid there is a short list of available candidates to replace Principal Snyder. There wasn't much notice."<p>

"Yes," said Wilkins. "Darned inconsiderate of him to invite vampires into his apartment at a time like this."

Finch never knew how to react when the Mayor made such off-hand remarks, so he plunged on. "There is one candidate who looks very good: his name is Robin Wood."

"Nah," said Wilkins, "he's too young. Maybe after a bit more seasoning, hmm?"

"Well, we do need an assistant principal," said Finch. "Perhaps we should consider Wood for that position."

"I don't know," said the Mayor, "although that might be worth considering. Tell you what: I'll pick the new principal, and you can pick the vice-principal."

"Me, sir? But what about the school board?"

"That's why we're discussing it, Allan. In my town, my office makes the recommendation, and the school board rubber-stamps it. No, you choose, and I'll sign off on it." There was a knock at the door. "Who could that be at this hour? Be a good fellow, Allan, and answer it for me."

Finch looked frightened at the thought of who might be knocking this time; nevertheless, he crossed the room and opened the door. He blanched and stumbled backward: Cordelia Chase stood on the threshold. Wilkins got up and walked to the door, gently elbowing his paralyzed deputy to one side. He smiled.

"What can I do for you, Miss?" he asked.

"You can invite me in. I understand you've got a vacancy for head henchperson or whatever," said Cordelia.

Wilkins smiled and graciously stepped aside. "Come on in," he said.

THE END


	2. Chapter 2

"I just think you're trying to scare me off 'cause you're afraid of the competition. Look, Buffy, you may be hot stuff when it comes to demonology or whatever, but when it comes to dating, I'm the Slayer."  
>—Cordelia, <em>Buffy the Vampire Slayer<em>, Season II, "Halloween"

Chapter One

Ned hurriedly packed his suitcase. This town was no place for a demon like him anymore, he thought. Mostly because he was about to tick off the wrong people. For all he knew, he already had. Ned had had help, of course, but he was the one who actually bought the books, and buying the Books of Ascension from an obscure Las Vegas bookseller, then smuggling them into Sunnydale under the Mayor's nose was bad enough, but re-selling them to the Slayer and her vampire-friend—Ned paused to reflect that he would never have expected to use those words together in a sentence—but letting them get hold of the books would render his life worthless: it was not a question of whether but when the Mayor would find out what he had done. He could not leave until he had unloaded the books, but he needed to be ready at a moment's notice.

Before the Mayor knew what had happened, Ned wanted to be flying over Katmandu. In an airplane, of course. Ned could not fly on his own; in fact, he had no special powers to speak of. He was much stronger than the average human, but you would not know that to look at his short, wiry physique, comical fringe of chin whiskers, and shaggy mane framing a baldpate. His only features that were truly demonic-looking were the short, blunt horns sticking out of his forehead and his pointed ears. Otherwise he could put on a big, floppy hat and be taken for a guy with a bad complexion. His skin was hideously bumpy from the viewpoint of most humans, but among his own species of demons he was actually regarded as rather handsome. He was still annoyed with the Slayer for making that crack about his complexion, but if she came through with the five grand, he thought, well, five thousand dollars buys a lot of bygones.

Ned froze in the midst of stuffing an extra pair of underwear into his already stuffed suitcase. He sensed an intruder in his run-down hotel room. He turned to see a tall, slim, brunette wearing black leather and lace, standing in front of the open door Ned knew he had locked.

"You're a vampire," said Ned.

"And you're a demon, but it doesn't mean we're not nice people."

"Funny. Earlier tonight another vampire questioned whether I'm people at all."

"That would have been Buffy, the Slayer's friend, at Mercer Cemetery, right? Also a case of the pot calling the kettle a kitchen utensil, her being a demon herself."

Ned tried to stand in front of his suitcase as if to keep the vampiress from seeing it. "How'd you know about that?" he asked.

"The same way I know you're planning to leave town," said Cordelia.

"What do you want from me?"

Cordelia closed the distance between them. "Would you believe that I've seen you around and find you irresistible?" Her eyes widened as she looked deeply into his.

"Really?" he asked.

"Can't you sense how I am drawn to your virile essence?"

"Huh?" he said.

"This isn't working on you, is it?" sighed Cordelia.

"Not a bit," he admitted. "I'd say your vampire magnetism is probably way above average, but it only works on humans."

"Oh," said Cordelia disappointedly.

"But I am enjoying the view," allowed Ned.

Cordelia looked down at her own bust, which was amply exposed dress.

"Oh!" she cried. She grabbed Ned by his collar and picked him up from the floor easily. "How's the view from up there?"

"Not so great," he gasped.

"Where are the Books of Ascension?" demanded Cordelia.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ned pleaded.

"Maybe this will refresh your memory," she said. "Full set, first editions, worn spine on volume four, slight to moderate foxing on most."

"Hey, that's from the…."

"From the invoice, yes," Cordelia said before she snarled and threw the demon onto the bed. "Turn over the books now and I might let you live."

"Why don't I believe that?" he asked.

"Why should you? I'm full of it." Cordelia smiled as she moved in. "I'll tell you what, though. You _can_ believe that if you _don't_ tell me, your death will be extremely slow and painful."

The demon jabbed Cordelia's chin with his left and rolled off the bed. Cordelia went after him and yanked him up, kicking and struggling.

"You have a lot of spunk," said Cordelia. "I like that." She drew Ned's body against hers and embraced him from behind. Then, placing her hands on either side of his head, she twisted it, thereby eliciting a sharp crack from his neck. The lifeless body slumped to the floor at her feet.

"Damn," said Cordelia, "I hope you have the books right here in this room or the Mayor is going to have my hiney in a soufflé." She began a methodical search of the room: under the bed, behind the curtains, even under the sink. But the most obvious hiding place proved to be the right one: in the closet.

Cordelia packed the volumes back in their shipping box and carried the awkward but, to her, nearly weightless load out of the frowsy hotel. Cordelia made herself a note never to be caught dead in this dive again: especially, of course, since dead was the only option for her anymore.

* * *

><p>Dingoes Ate My Baby played loudly. Angel nursed a cup of coffee and looked around the Bronze expecting to see Willow because she dated Oz, but she was not in sight. Guess it's past Willow's bedtime on a school night, Angel thought with a smile.<p>

When the band took a break, Oz went to get a coffee and chatted with his band mates. Angel was vaguely aware of some strain on Oz and Willow's relationship, but he didn't know what to make of it; everyone had been under a strain lately.

Angel had hoped that the loud music would prevent anyone from speaking to him, but during the break a man took the stool next to him. The man was average in height, rather thin and young. His hair was a light brown, his face was, in fact, a frank and open face; he was, however, the oldest-looking young man that Angel had ever seen. He was dressed rather formally for the venue, albeit in a drab and even threadbare suit, although his tie was missing. He was a bit drunk, as well.

"Howard Quillish," he said, offering his hand.

Angel delayed but finally shook it. "Angel," he said.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Angel. I'm a teacher at Sunnydale High. What's your line?"

"Oh yeah?" said Angel with mild curiosity. "Was Buffy Summers in one of your classes?"

"Well, first of all," said Quillish, leaning in a little too close, "are you referring to one of the girls who disappeared after the massacre in the gym?"

"Yeah," said Angel, wishing he had not brought up the subject. He stopped pretending to breathe so that he wouldn't have to smell the alcohol on Quillish's breath.

"Terrible tragedy," said Quillish, staring at his beer. He paused, "But I did have her in a class once. She was one of the nicer kids, actually. I should say, though, I'm not a regular teacher; I'm a substitute."

"Substitute," said Angel. "I'm aware of that strange American custom."

"Strange American…. Are you foreign? You don't sound it."

"I've lived in this country a long time."

"Really? Where'd you grow up?"

"Ireland."

"They don't have substitute teachers in Ireland?"

"Not when I was a lad; if the teacher didn't show up, they just cancelled class."

"Bet you liked that."

"What's not to like?"

"You're right," said Quillish ruefully. "I'd probably like it better that way, too, even if it put me out a job. There are other jobs in the world."

"If you don't mind my asking," said Angel, "why do you substitute teach if you don't like it?"

"Too scared to find my true calling," he said.

"Teaching isn't your true calling?"

"Well, I thought it might be, but it's really hard to get a permanent position, and maintaining any kind of discipline as a substitute is—to say the least—daunting. I don't mind telling you, I dread answering the phone when it rings tomorrow at six a.m. Even more, I dread walking into the classroom they'll assign me to."

Well, just remember," said Angel. "You're in charge."

"Yeah?" said Quillish, eagerly welcoming whatever encouragement might come his way.

"If they act out, call them to the front of the class and give 'em a swat across the keister with a stout switch."

Quillish's eyes widened. "Man, what century did you go to school?"

Mercifully, the band came off of its break and resumed playing loudly; it was impossible for the two men to continue their conversation. At least it was impossible for Quillish, who did not possess the ability of a vampire to hear above the din of a nightclub.

"Listen," said Angel, "I hate to ask you to shove off, but I'm expecting someone."

"Oh, sure. How rude of me to barge in on you."

"Not at all, and I wish you well in your search for your calling."

"Uh, thanks," said Quillish as he slid off of the stool and moved away.

"This seat taken, Mister?" asked a familiar voice.

Without having to look, Angel said, "It is now, Buffy."

"I'll take that as an invitation," she said, sliding onto the stool next to Angel.

"Been out patrolling with Faith again?" Angel asked.

"Yeah."

"How's that going?"

"Surprisingly, OK," said Buffy. "You know, the whole vampire-cooperating-with-Slayer thing takes a little getting used to."

"Yeah, tell me about it," said Angel.

"Who was that guy you were talking with?"

"Said he's a substitute teacher at Sunnydale High. Look familiar?"

"Yeah. Kinda," was all that Buffy could say about the man who was, at that moment walking unsteadily out of the club.

"Mr. Quillish is a real sad sack," Angel told Buffy.

"Yeah," said Buffy, "I kinda recall."

"He's terrified of students because they never obey him."

Buffy just nodded, so Angel changed the subject. "So, where are you staying?" he asked.

"You're probably going to laugh, but remember how you joked that Mom could put a coffin in the basement for me? Well, she actually did put me in the basement, though not in a coffin, just a cot," Buffy giggled. "Don't need a coffin," she continued, "since the whole basement is my coffin. We blocked up the windows. It's kinda cozy. Going a little stir crazy down there, though. You oughta come…." She stopped and left her sentence hanging. "I guess you're not finding this as funny as I thought you would."

"There's nothing funny to me about your unhappiness," said Angel setting down his coffee and looking at her.

"I didn't actually say I'm unhappy, although I can't say I'm euphoric, either. Did I tell you Faith helped me move most of my stuff into the basement?"

"You're really giving up your old room?" asked Angel as it suddenly sank in.

"I can't be in there in the morning light," said Buffy. "So Faith's taken my old room."

There was another long pause. Angel brooded. He remembered the first time he was ever in her room; he recalled the last time, too, and the many in between. Not always good times.

They sat through a long, awkward silence.

"Have you ever heard of something called the Books of Ascension?" Buffy finally asked.

"Can't say I have," replied Angel.

"Well someone offered to sell them to us tonight. I mean, a demon came right up to a Slayer and offered to let us have them for five thousand dollars."

Angel whistled. "Lotta money."

"What's strange is, he told us the Mayor is interested in them."

"I see," said Angel. "If the Mayor is interested, we should be, too."

* * *

><p>Mayor Richard Wilkins III looked up from his desk as Cordelia entered his office. He smiled as he looked at his desk clock: the time was exactly 8 p.m.<p>

"Cordelia, if there is one quality I admire above almost any other, it's punctuality, and you are right on time," he said. Cordelia hardly acknowledged his greeting; indeed, she was frowning. "On the other hand, if there is something I dislike above all else, it's a frown," he added. "I want you to tell me right this minute what I can do to turn that frown upside down."

"Did you know that I ate my parents before I came to work for you?" asked Cordelia glumly.

"I'm aware of that," said Wilkins, "but I had no idea you were still moping about it. You know, you and I have both given up our souls. Technically, of course, I still have mine, but I no longer own it. Makes it feel rather lightly tethered to this mortal coil. Anyway, my point is that a soul can be—what's the term you young people use nowadays?—a real drag.

"I've seen a lot of people die—including people whose deaths I've caused, directly or indirectly—but they don't bother me: least of all the loved ones I've laid to rest. Now, I'm as big a supporter of family values as the next fellow, but I don't see why someone without a soul wouldn't just be singing 'Zippity-Doo-Dah' right about now, even if she had eaten her parents. You've got to buck up, stick out your chest and put the twinkle back in those gorgeous peepers of yours." Mayor Wilkins chuckled gleefully.

Cordelia waved her hands frantically in front of her. "No, no, no," she said. "I'm not upset because I ate them. But, afterwards, I started thinking about all the money Daddy had and whether I was going to get any of it, you know, since I'm an orphan? Then it turns out the IRS had been breathing down Daddy's neck for a while just because he kept forgetting to do his income taxes for the last twelve years. You could say I got to his neck before they did, but the government has accelerated the whole investigation, now, and they've attached everything he owned. I'm not only an orphan; I'm a poor one. Do you know anybody who can do something about estate taxes?"

"Now, now," chided the Mayor. "We all have to pay our taxes to support each and every level of government; I happen to believe in civic duty, but don't you worry about your inheritance; I'm offering you a place at my right hand on the day of the Ascension, and on that day, you will be able to have anything in the world your heart desires."

"Can I have things that are really expensive?" asked Cordelia dreamily.

"Can you? You bet," the Mayor chuckled. "Right now, though, I have an errand for you to do. You might call it a challenge."

"I'm intrigued already."

The Mayor chuckled freely. "That's the spunky Cordelia I've come to cherish." He paused and became serious. "I want you to seduce Angel; see if you can bring him over to our side."

"Hmm, that is a challenge. I've tried before, when I was human—and I got pretty far—but he really likes Buffy. Doesn't think about much else."

Well, something tells me he isn't so happy with her being a vampire."

"Really? How do you know?"

"Like I said: something told me. Can't say what it was; if everyone knew my sources, then I'd have to get new ones."

Cordelia idly swatted at a fly.

"Don't!" the mayor cried, reaching out to stay her hand. "One of my informants," he admitted.

"Talk about a fly on the wall!" Cordelia exclaimed.

* * *

><p>Howard Quillish had gotten the wake-up call he dreaded. He was assigned to take Mrs. Bates' English classes for the whole week. "You're Mrs. Bates today," the new vice-principal, Mr. Wood, had said to him earlier. Having worked for the SunnydaleSchool District for nearly two years, Quillish had heard that chestnut too many times. He appreciated neither the humor nor the vice-principal's complacent grin while uttering it.<p>

Now it was nearly time for the bell to ring, but Quillish was putting off entering the classroom. He was almost glad for the distraction just provided by the man who had introduced himself as Wesley Windham-Pryce and asked for directions to the library.

At least I am competent to direct a stranger to the library, Quillish thought to himself without much satisfaction.

As the first bell rang, he turned and beheld a woman so stunning in her appearance that he was surprised he had not seen her before stumbling into her. Her skin was darkly chocolate in contrast to Quillish's, which was palest white. She wore a silky orange blouse and well-fitted blue wool suit. She was lithe and tall, towering over the diminutive Quillish.

"Excuse me," said Quillish, "I didn't see you; I must have been lost in thought."

"No, excuse me," she said smiling charmingly. She had a slight foreign accent that Quillish couldn't place. "My name is Abby LaChance. I am a new substitute teacher. Do you know the way to Mr. Salmonen's classroom?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do, because I substituted for Mr. Salmonen, I think, a couple of months ago, before the massacre, anyway…."

"Massacre?" asked Ms. LaChance, seeming curious but not alarmed. "What sort of massacre?"

"Well, actually," began Quillish, looking around to see who might be listening, "if you had asked anyone else, they probably wouldn't have mentioned it. There are some really scary things that go on in this school. No one likes to talk about them, though. I'd be glad to fill you in sometime, but we both had better get to class. Umm…. Actually, if you go around this next corner, Mr. Salmonen's classroom is the first door on the right."

"Thank you, and I hope to take you up on those scary stories sometime."

"Why, sure. I'd be glad to," said Quillish. She seems like a very nice lady, he thought. "I have to warn you about something, Ms. LaChance: you are about to walk into a very unruly class. Watch out or those kids will eat you alive."

"Thank you for the warning," said Ms. LaChance. She smiled warmly before turning and walking around the corner.

Quillish sighed and walked into Mrs. Bates' classroom.

The boys in the back of the room immediately began to chant, "Sub! Sub! Sub! Sub!" Quillish set his briefcase on the teacher's desk and opened the middle drawer. As he expected, the attendance book and lesson plan were right there. He pulled them out and set them on top of the desk.

"All right!" he called. "Settle down people!" He wrote his name, "Quillish," across the chalkboard in a quick but neat Spenserian hand.

"Sub! Sub! Ha-ha-ha, 'Quillish'! Sub! Sub!" The boys continued chanting, but with difficulty since they were also laughing at his name. A few more students, including a few girls, gleefully joined in the chant.

"Listen up, people!" shouted Quillish. "I'm about to take attendance. You wouldn't want to be marked absent because you couldn't hear, would you?" he pleaded. The chanting continued but soon trailed off into chuckling. Quillish knew that they stopped chanting because they were getting tired of it rather than because he had persuaded them to stop.

"Abbott? Cynthia Abbott?" No one answered. "Is she here?"

Five or six different voices answered "yes" and "no."

"One person answering will be enough."

"Hey, what are you going to teach us today?"

"He's not going to teach anything: he's a sub," said a handsome athletic fellow. Laughter all around.

"OK, what's your name?" Quillish asked the boy who had asked the question about the lesson plan.

"Who? Me? Pete Whitman."

Quillish marked him present. "And you?"

The boy who had answered Pete's question said, "Russ Eckhart." Quillish marked "Eckhart, Russell" present as well. "Hey, what are you writing about me?" asked Eckhart.

"In case you're already lost," said Quillish, "We're still taking attendance." And before Eckhart had a chance to reply, Quillish forged ahead. "Andrew Acevedo?"

"Yo!"

"A simple, 'here' will do," advised Quillish. "David Cameron."

"Present!"

"Hey, you heard the teacher," said Acevedo. "You're supposed to say 'here,' not 'present'." A wave of giggling rolled through the room.

"OK, quiet down." Quillish paused over the next name. "You're going to have to help me with this one. Christopher…ahh…D-u-r-k-a-c-z. Der-kaz?"

Students tittered and Acevedo imitated Quillish's pronunciation of the name, barely under his breath.

"Close," said the bespectacled boy seated directly in front of Acevedo. "But my family happens to pronounce it 'Dure-kah-ch'."

"Hey, Door-catch," called Eckhart. "Catch any doors today?" The class laughed together, loudly.

"All right," said Quillish, "the next person who speaks without being called upon gets sent to the vice-principal."

The class made a unanimous "Ooooh," sound.

"I mean it," warned Quillish.

"Ooooh," they said again. There was more laughter.

"Ow! Hey cut it out!" shouted Durkacz." He stood up and glared at Acevedo.

"Sit down, Mr. Durkacz," said Quillish.

"Mr. Quish!" said Eckhart, waving his hand.

"Quillish," Quillish corrected.

"Yeah, that's it." Eckhart shared a goofy smile with his classmates by turning from side to side; his classmates giggled. "You should send Door-catch to Mr. Wood's office. He talked without raising his hand."

"While you've been talking steadily even though I've never called on you except once to ask your name," Quillish pointed out. "I'm going to write you a note so that you can go to Mr. Woods office and explain yourself to him." Quillish grabbed pen and paper from the desktop and began to write "Russell Eckhart…."

"Knock it off!" cried Durkacz. Quillish looked up in time to see Durkacz turn in his chair and strike Acevedo. It was just a mild rap on the arm, but a daring move considering that Acevedo outweighed him by no less than one hundred pounds.

In the next moment, too many things happened at once for Quillish to account for them all. An eraser slammed against the chalkboard. He turned to see it bouncing off, leaving a thick chalk track on the green board with a cloud of dust floating before it.

Then Acevedo brought Durkacz to the floor with a crash and began punching him in the face. Eckhart led the entire class in a new chant: "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Quillish grabbed the phone to the administration and began to ask for help.

"What's the meaning of this!" shouted a tall, bald black man in the doorway.

Quillish wondered when the door had opened and how long Vice-Principal Wood had been standing there.

By the time Wood's stride brought him to the center of the room, the din had turned to utter silence. Students seemed frozen in space; wary eyes watched the vice-principal, but their bodies were unable to withdraw from compromising positions. Acevedo knelt, fist in mid-air, about to smash the prone Durkacz, who was already bruised and bleeding.

Wood's knees halted within inches of Acevedo's face. "You are so busted, Acevedo," said Wood looking down at him. "Get up and go to my office. Now!"

Acevedo got up and left the room without another word.

"Mr. Quillish, would you be so kind as to call the school nurse? Tell her we have a student whose parents will need to take him to the hospital. Do you know the student's name?"

"Ah, Durkacz," responded Quillish, quite stunned by what was happening.

"Good," said Wood. "Tell Nurse Farrell to call Chris Durkacz's parents."

While Quillish nervously stammered instructions to the school nurse, Wood turned on Eckhart. "You, too. I want to see you in my office."

"What did I do?" whined Eckhart.

Wood walked over to the teacher's desk and picked up the disciplinary form Quillish had been filling in just before the lopsided fight had started. "I have every confidence that Mr. Quillish wrote down your name for a good reason," said Wood. "On your way, Mr. Eckhart. And try tempering your urge to describe your behavior in the best possible light by guessing how long I was observing the class before I opened the door."

Eckhart frowned, collected his books, and left the room.

"I am going to consult briefly with Mr. Quillish in the hall," said Wood to the remaining students. "During that time I trust you will study quietly or, failing that, meditate on the error of your ways."

There was silence except for the sound of books opening and papers shuffling. Wood nodded toward Quillish who followed the vice-principal into the hall. Wood closed the door behind him, peered briefly into the room, and then led Quillish to the lockers lining the opposite side of the hallway.

"So," Wood began, "you've been substitute teaching at Sunnydale for over a year now. Is that right?"

"Yes," said Quillish.

"Seems to me you should be getting the hang of it by now, don't you think?"

"I suppose so."

"You have to be firm with them, Mr. Quillish. The only thing these kids understand is the boot, the bat and the bastinado."

"The what?"

"It's a club used by Turkish prison guards," said Wood quickly. "Perhaps a bit of misplaced levity on my part…. But, look, my point is that you need to brook no foolishness from the second you walk into that classroom until the last student leaves. Whatever you do, they aren't going to take a liking to you. If they don't like you, that might sting at first, but it's far better that they respect you and dislike you than that they disrespect you and still don't like you."

"I see your point," said Quillish.

"I hope so," said Wood. "Now, I think that if you go back in there you'll find that—for the remainder of the period, at least—you'll have very obedient students."

* * *

><p>"Well, no danger of finding those here," Giles was saying.<p>

"You mean vampires?" asked Wesley incredulously.

"No, controlled circumstances," replied Giles off-handedly. Then, seeing Faith come through the library doors, he added, "Good morning, Faith."

Faith slowed her pace as she approached them, her eyes fixed on Wesley. "Who's this?" she asked.

"Wesley Windham-Price, at your service," Wesley announced, almost clicking his heels like a Prussian officer. "And you would be, perhaps, Faith?"

"That's what I just called her," muttered Giles.

Ignoring him, Wesley added, "I have come on a mission from the Watchers Council."

"You my new watcher?" asked Faith. As she spoke, she drew herself up defensively.

"That has not been determined," said Giles, eyeing Wesley cautiously.

"Right," said Wesley, "the Council has only instructed me to evaluate the situation here and report back. A change in personnel would be decided only in the event that my report reflected gross negligence or incompetence on anyone's part." He looked Giles in the eye for the first time.

"Is he evil?" Faith asked Giles.

Wesley did a double take. "Evil?"

"Gwendolyn Post left Faith with an understandably less than trusting attitude toward people claiming to be from the Watchers Council," said Giles.

"Ah, yes," said Wesley. "Well, Mr. Giles checked my credentials—rather thoroughly I might add—but I am glad you are on your toes as well." He smiled and leaned toward Faith. "A good Slayer is a cautious Slayer," he said confidentially.

"So, is he evil?" asked Faith again.

"Not essentially," said Giles.

"I'm glad we've cleared that up," said Wesley. "Now, Mr. Giles was just giving me his version of recent events. I am curious to hear your account of things: what happened in your own words?"

"You mean how Buffy got bit, turned into a vampire, and then got re-ensouled?"

"That pretty much puts it in a nutshell." Wesley nodded. "And what do you make of it all?"

"Wha'dya mean?" asked Faith warily.

"Well, do you think there was anything anyone could have done to prevent it?"

"Yeah," said Faith, looking at Giles.

Wesley saw this and raised an eyebrow. Giles' expression, however, remained one of mild interest. "What do you believe should have been done differently?" asked Wesley.

"Buffy should've stayed in bed that day."

Wesley stood for a moment, at a loss for words. Then he changed the subject. "Mr. Giles tells me that you plan to attend this, ah, school."

"Yeah," replied Faith. "It makes sense if I'm going to be working with Giles here, that goin' to school is a good cover."

"Well, yes, as well as getting what passes for an education in this country; that seems very sensible," said Wesley, "assuming that Mr. Giles will be continuing on as your watcher."

"Assumin' the council wants to keep me a happy Slayer," said Faith, "he better be continuin' on."

Again, Wesley was taken aback by Faith's bluntness. He considered his words carefully now. "I don't feel that we're getting off on quite the right foot," he said.

At that moment, they heard footsteps in the hall and muffled but animated voices approaching the library. All heads turned as the doors swung open.

"Well, let's just see what Mr. Giles says about it," Willow was saying to Xander as they entered the library. Then both stopped when they saw Wesley with Giles and Faith.

"We're not interrupting a secret meeting are we?" Xander asked. "Although, if we are, I have to tell you: Secret meetings in public places around 8:30 a.m.—not likely to stay secret for long."

"Ah, ah," Wesley stammered.

"Good one," Giles observed to Faith as he inclined his head toward Wesley.

Wesley scowled at Giles before addressing the newcomers. "There are no secret meetings here; I can't imagine what you could possibly mean."

"New watcher?" asked Willow.

"Good Lord!" Wesley said turning to Giles. "Does everyone here know about the Slayer?"

"We already know about the Watchers Council and whom they watch," said Willow, walking up to Wesley. "By the way, I'm WillowRosenberg."

"Willow, of course! I'm Wesley Windham-Price." He took her hand. "I understand that you are the witch who re-ensouled Buffy."

"Aww, well, I don't really consider myself a full-fledged witch," said Willow. She then introduced Xander who did not bother to shake hands but instead plopped down in a chair, saluted Wesley with a forefinger, and said, "Yo."

Wesley turned to Giles. "Just how many people in Sunnydale know about the Slayer?"

Giles removed his glasses and looked toward the ceiling for a moment. "Five," he said, "not including you and Faith herself, of course."

"Not including the undead, either," said Xander.

"Hard to keep the news from the vamps," said Faith.

"Say," said Xander, "you weren't sent here by the Council to replace Giles, were you? 'Cause that Buffy-vampire thing was so not Giles' fault."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," said Giles wearily.

"Don't mention it," replied Xander.

"Perhaps it was not his fault," said Wesley, "but I have a duty to look into it." Then to Giles he said, "Since everyone in this room—as well as others not present, I gather—knows what this is all about, and since I am beginning seriously to doubt that there will ever be a moment when we may speak in private, would you mind my speaking frankly?"

"Was Frank invited to this meeting, too?" asked Xander. No one laughed.

"Feel free," Giles said to Wesley.

"Well, where do I begin? You have a Slayer killed by vampires—that's happened all too often, of course; she is then turned into a vampire herself—a rarer occurrence but not as rare as one might suppose; then, the thing you might expect, if at all possible, would be for the next Slayer in line—that would be Faith, here—to slay the, ah, Buffy-vampire as this young, ah, gentleman so colorfully described the former Slayer; however, just as Faith was about to do just that, you, Mr. Giles, prevented her from doing her duty."

"I told you the Council would see it that way," Faith reminded Giles.

"You are forgetting that Buffy had been re-ensouled at that point," Giles told Wesley.

"Yes, re-ensouling vampires," mused Wesley, "a practice frowned upon by the Council."

"Actually," said Giles, "it is a rare enough phenomenon that the Council has had no particular policy regarding it."

"Until last Monday," said Wesley. "As a result of recent goings on in Sunnydale, the full Council has indeed voted to forbid any and all Council personnel from performing or in any way involving themselves in any re-ensouling rituals."

"And this was decided last Monday?" asked Giles.

"At a special meeting of the Council."

"As usual, I didn't get the memo," said Giles.

"Delivering that information was one of my duties," said Wesley.

"And speedily discharged," said Giles sarcastically.

"Hold on, Mama!" exclaimed Xander. "You mean to tell me that now we can't re-ensoul Cordy, just because some twits across the big pond say we can't?"

"Who?" Wesley looked searchingly from person to person.

"I think the twits he's talking about are the Watchers Council," said Faith helpfully.

"No, I mean who's Cordy?" asked Wesley.

"When they turned Buffy into a…," began Giles, "well, they turned two other young women, as well. Cordelia was one of them, and she was a particular friend of Xander's."

"Not so much to the rest of us," Willow said.

"I hardly even knew her," added Faith.

"I see," said Wesley. He turned to Xander. "As sorry as I am for your loss—and believe me, as a watcher, I understand these things—but we can't go around giving vampires their souls back. Faith wouldn't know whom to slay anymore. Should we establish an assembly line re-ensouling every vampire? I suppose we should replace slaying with re-ensouling as the way to manage the vampire population? Imagine a world full of vampires with souls; it would be unnatural for one thing."

"One of my best friends is a vampire who's been re-ensouled," said Xander testily.

"Do you see, Mr. Giles, where your leadership—or the lack of it—has led?" said Wesley.

"It's news to me that this was an issue," said Giles.

"Actually, we came here to talk to you about it," said Willow, "Xander wants me to do the ritual again, this time to re-ensoul Cordelia, but I had qualms and said we should talk to you first."

"Ah! Thank God!" said Wesley. "At least someone here can be sensible. My compliments to you, Miss Rosenberg."

"Willow," she corrected him.

"In this matter, I am afraid that I would have to side with Willow's qualms," Giles said gently to Xander. "I know that Cordelia meant a great deal to you, but any time we resort to magic, there are consequences—unintended consequences—that we just might not be capable of dealing with."

"You gave Buffy her soul back," said Xander, "and there have been no unintended consequences so far."

"So far," echoed Giles. "There is the problem of her readjustment to having a soul. What if she becomes so unhappy that she some day curses us all for returning her soul to her?"

"I've just got to believe that won't happen," said Xander. "Besides, I also gotta believe it's better to have a soul than not have one. She has a choice now."

"That's one of the things that troubles me," said Giles. "Buffy never had a choice about being the Slayer, then she was forced to be a vampire, and now we've forced her to be a vampire with a soul; from here on, she does have choices, but they have become rather narrowed."

Giles turned to Wesley. "As for your report to the Council and your ambitions to become Faith's watcher, I can only point out that we are in a crisis here in Sunnydale."

"If you are referring to Mayor Wilkins, I have read your reports."

"Then you know that we are only beginning to discover the extent of the threat he poses."

"Precisely why I need to make my report and, if necessary, take corrective measures," said Wesley.

"The most corrective measure you could take," said Faith, "would be to put your report and your ego on hold and help us find out more about this bad guy."

"Interesting," said Wesley. "What is your assessment of the threat posed by the Mayor?"

"I know that he tried to sacrifice some babies to a demon so he could gain some kahuna-sized mojo; I know he's got an army of vamps workin' for him; I know his number one was Mr. Trick, who used to be right-hand man to Kakistos."

"Ah, Kakistos, the vampire who killed your first watcher in Boston," said Wesley, beaming. Faith winced and became silent. "What?" asked Wesley.

"High marks for doing your homework," said Giles. "Demerits for insensitivity."

"Anyway, Buffy slew Trick," said Willow. "By the way, she did that as a vampire."

"And now Cordy is the Mayor's Commander Riker," said Xander ruefully.

"His who?" asked Wesley.

"Really?" said Giles, looking quizzically at Wesley. "_I_ finally got one of their cultural references, and you didn't." He smiled to himself for a moment—before his expression turned to one of horror. "Dear Lord, I'm becoming one of them."

"Don't worry," said Xander, "You have a ways to go yet."

By now Faith had regained her composure. "Look, something just happened last night," she said. "A demon offered me something called the Books of Ascension. When I told him I wasn't interested, he said the Mayor would be, and if Wilkins found out this demon was selling them, he'd have him killed."

"You say this demon wants cash? How unusual," said Wesley.

"Demons after money," said Giles. "No one has standards anymore."

"What's the Ascension?" asked Xander.

Giles and Wesley exchanged looks before admitting that they were equally clueless.

"Oh! The Marenschadt Text!" exclaimed Willow. "In the section on genocide, the Ascension is mentioned."

"Go Red!" said Faith. "We have a winner."

More importantly, two losers," said Xander.

Willow told Giles where to find the volume; he brought it out and located the relevant passage.

"Ah, yes," Giles said, "there's a reference to the journal of Desmond Caine, pastor of the town of Sharpsville. It's dated May 26, 1723, and it reads, 'Tomorrow is the Ascension: God help us all.' It was the last anyone heard."

"Of Caine?" Wesley asked.

"No, of Sharpsville."

"The point is, we can't afford to swap horses right now," said Faith. "Can you give us a break and help us find out what we're up against before you write us up?"

"I am not sure I understood all of that, but I think I got the gist," said Wesley.

"Good," said Giles. "I was afraid I was the only one of us that did."

"Of course, I do have my orders from the Council," Wesley continued. "Still, I see your point about the possibly imminent nature of the threat posed by Mayor Wilkins, and the need you might have for my services as a highly-trained watcher; so I am willing to relay your views to the Council, Faith, and I might even add my recommendation that they have some merit."

"I'm sure we could use your expertise," said Willow.

"Why, thank you, Miss Rosenberg. It is good to be appreciated by someone around here."

"Please, call me Willow."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot—Willow." Then to everyone he added, "Right, then. I am off to telephone headquarters with our concerns. Ah, might I use the phone in your office?"

"Go right ahead," said Giles. "Make sure you call collect, though."

When Wesley was out of earshot, Faith said, "Nice going, Red."

"Oh, you know me: I like to read," Willow said. She gave Giles an apologetic look.

"No," said Faith. "I mean that was really helpful: the way you buttered up the new watcher? I can never do that shit. Maybe I could take a page from you on that."

"Hey, how come they call it 'buttering someone up' when the primary ingredient is always bullshit?" asked Xander.

"Well, Faith, it was also wise of you not to mention that Buffy was patrolling with you when you met that demon," said Giles. "I think it will take Mr. Windham-Price some time to get used to the way things are done here on the Hellmouth."

"You think he's close to being on the same page as the rest of us?" Faith asked.

"No," replied Giles.

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

In the parking lot after school, Mr. Quillish walked toward his 1988 Toyota Corolla. His heels dragged, a corner of his briefcase nearly scraped the pavement, and his head hung so low that when he reached the spot where his car should have been, all he could see instead were a pair of loafers.

Quillish looked up and up the tall frame of Eckhart who wore a letter jacket with "Sunnydale" and a razor-backed pig emblazoned on it. Quillish tried to turn around, but that way was blocked by Acevedo.

"You got me kicked out of school," said Acevedo. He shoved Quillish's shoulders. The teacher lost his grip on his briefcase. Eckhart grabbed it from behind and held the case over his own head.  
>"Catch Andy!" he called.<p>

"Going long!" shouted Acevedo. He ran backwards and sideways—right into Ms. LaChance.

"What do you think you boys are doing?" she said through gritted teeth. Her accent, Quillish noticed, was more pronounced when she was angry, and the anger in her voice now was palpable, like a heat wave pushing out from her and enveloping Acevedo, Eckhart and Quillish. Even though he knew it was not directed toward him, Quillish felt a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach: so, evidently, did Acevedo and Eckhart; Quillish looked back and forth between the two quivering boys.

"We weren't doing nothing," said Eckhart.

"You were not doing anything," said Ms. LaChance, correcting him without lessening her anger. "And you are lying, Mr. Eckhart, are you not? I just witnessed you doing something you are not supposed to do. Mr. Wood was very explicit in his warning to you. If he catches wind of any more of your foolishness then you, like Mr. Acevedo here, will be expelled.

"And you, Mr. Acevedo" -she pronounced each syllable "Ah-ceh-vay-doh" "—you are not supposed to be anywhere near this campus upon penalty of arrest. Do you think you can go through life beating people up and simply getting off with a suspension? You could land in jail yet for that stunt you pulled in Mr. Quillish's class today. Oh yes, you could, Mr. Acevedo."

"Please, don't tell Mr. Wood," begged Acevedo.

"Get out of here, both of you," said Ms. LaChance, clucking her tongue disgustedly, "before one of you wets his pants."

The boys immediately turned and fled. Quillish was amazed at how soon they were off of school property, the backs of their letter jackets receding along a tree-and-fence-lined street until they were almost imperceptible.

Quillish picked up his brief case where Eckhart had dropped it.

"Sorry I didn't make him hand it back to you, Mr. Quillish."

"Oh, no," said Quillish, "Thank you for all your help, Ms. LaChance."

"'Twas my pleasure," she replied. "And call me Abby. Now I think we promised ourselves to have a nice long talk. I know a quiet place on the edge of town where they serve good beer. Come. I'll treat you."

"Well," said Quillish hesitantly. "That's very nice of you…Abby… but you must promise to let me buy the second round."

"That is a deal," Abby said.

The place was out of the way but not an out-and-out dive. They were able to sit in a booth and get slowly drunk without anyone prying; the waitress was discreet enough to keep full pitchers coming and otherwise leave them to their conversation.

"I started out thinking that I had something to offer them," said Quillish over their second pitcher. "You know, my knowledge of history and literature isn't as advanced as some people's, but if the students knew what I know—if I could impart to them what I know—they would at least know something. That—that sounds so obvious, doesn't it."

"It makes sense, though," said Abby. "Young people think they know everything. Yet you do have much to offer them. You know, there are three styles of leadership: building, healing, and teaching. You would make a good leader because of your ability to teach; only you do not receive the respect you deserve. You must feel as if you are casting pearls before swine."

"Well, 'swine' is a bit harsh; I don't think of these kids as swine. Some of them are actually nice enough—when they're alone."

"Ah, but once they are in a mob, they soon undermine your authority, disrespect tradition, and cut off your head."

"What?" asked Quillish. He shook his head, uncertain of what he had heard.

"Sorry," said Abby, checking her enthusiasm. "I get carried away when such a fine leader as yourself is disrespected and overthrown. You have so much to teach them, but you must show them who is boss in order to get your message across."

Quillish: "Tell me, how do you do it?"

Abby: "I put myself in the right frame of mind and just take command."

Quillish: "I wish I could make those kids do anything I want."

"Done," said Abby. As she spoke, her voice deepened and her face contorted into a fearsome mask, like green terracotta.

A moment later, Quillish found himself alone and paying for four now-empty pitchers of beer. He was so drunk that he used the pay phone to call a cab.

* * *

><p>Cordelia pushed open the door to Angel's mansion. The door creaked pleasantly, she thought.<p>

"Angel," she called.

"You know, I could slay you where you stand," said Angel, as he emerged from the shadows, armed with a crossbow, "but then I'd have to wonder whether I'd ever find out why you risked coming here—or whether you had the sense to know the risk you were taking."

"Is that the only reason?" she asked. "Doesn't our friendship still mean anything to you?"

"I'm cutting you some slack because you used to be friends with Buffy."

"No, I wasn't."

"Oh, that's right," said Angel. "In that case, you had better fight or run." He rleveled the crossbow at her again.

Cordelia burst into tears. "I did come here knowing the risk," she sniffled, "but I thought you, of all people, would listen to me. Angel, I can't tell you how unhappy I am as a vampire."

"It's not for sissies," Angel agreed, but he kept the crossbow aimed at her heart.

Cordelia, however, continued to cry, and Angel, after a series of winces and a couple of hesitations, set aside the weapon, opened a drawer, and withdrew a couple of neatly folded handkerchiefs which he cautiously gave to her.

"Mmm," sniffed Cordelia. "They smell fresh." She sniffed again, but her tears had now subsided. "How come they have black borders? Like they used to use for funerals a long time ago. Aren't these old-fashioned?"

"I didn't know you knew about anything old-fashioned," said Angel.

"I generally don't know about old, but I know a lot about fashion." Cordelia replied.

"They're Drusilla's, actually," explained Angel. "She got 'em at a fire sale decades ago."

"I didn't know vampires get to go to fire sales," said Cordelia, her interest genuinely piqued.

"She was the first one there, since she started the fire," Angel said. "Anyway, ever since she left Sunnydale in kind of a hurry, I've kept 'em as a reminder that she might come back."

"That's nice. It shows you care for her even though she's a vampire without a soul."

"Did I say 'reminder'? I meant 'warning'."

Cordelia put both of her palms on angel's chest and looked up at him. "You know, we could be a real match, you and I."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, you know how since you love Buffy, you never want to make love to her and turn into Angelus?"

"So?"

"Well, with me you wouldn't have to worry about what you turned into, because I wouldn't mind a bit if you turn into evil old Angelus." She slipped a finger under his shirt and ran it playfully across his chest.

"Your point being?" asked Angel as he gently but firmly removed her hand from his shirt.

"Only that since you don't love me, we could have a lot of fun together, and maybe there wouldn't be any risk of Angelus-izing you. What do you say?"

"If that's all you've come for, you took a big risk for nothing," said Angel. "Now get out of here, before I change my mind about not slaying you."

"Sorry if I offended you," she said. "Most _straight_ guys wouldn't have turned me down."

"Having given most of 'em a shot, I believe you'd know," he said. She proffered the two handkerchiefs. "I've got a whole dresser full," he said. "You keep them."

Angel picked up the crossbow again, and Cordelia left.

Cordelia hurried home. Her first sortie had not been as successful as she had hoped, but she had not expected her mission to be easily accomplished. As she passed a row of hedges, she momentarily had the impression that something in them watched her. She paused but sensed no immediate threat. She hurried on.

When she had passed by, the figure of Buffy emerged from the hedges to watch Cordelia's receding back.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Quillish came to school feeling as trepid as ever. Nevertheless, he walked into class and set his briefcase on the desk.<p>

The students continued to chat and walk about the room in spite of his arrival. Without any expectation of success, he asked them to sit and be quiet. They did.

Astonished, Quillish stared at the class, which expectantly returned his look. He opened the middle desk drawer and took refuge in the lesson plan for a moment, during which the class remained eerily quiet. He looked up to see them all sitting stock-still. When he looked down again, a volume lying in the drawer caught his eye. He picked it up and leafed through it, noting that it was inscribed: "Property of Owen Thurman."

Suddenly, Quillish was struck by an inspiration. He set the lesson plan aside and said, "Mr. Eckhart, I would like you to come up here, take this book, and read out loud the poem I've marked."

Eckhart came up, uncomfortably but obediently. He took the book, faced the class, wiped a bit of perspiration from his brow and did his best to read:

"After great pain, a formal feeling comes—  
>The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs—<br>The Heart questions was it He, that bore,  
>And Yesterday, or Centuries before?<p>

"The Feet, mechanical, go round—  
>Of Ground, or Air, or Ought—<br>A Wooden way  
>Regardless grown,<br>A Quartz contentment, like a stone—

"This is the Hour of Lead—  
>Remembered, if outlived,<br>As Freezing persons, recollect the snow—  
>First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—"<p>

"Read it again," Quillish commanded. "Try to put a little more feeling into it."

Eckhart did, but this time he couldn't hold back tears, moved by his own reading.

"Tell me why the poem makes you cry, Mr. Eckhart?"

"My Dad died when I was eight," said Eckhart tearfully, but he looked horrified by his own admission as he spoke.

Pete Whitman led the others in laughing at Eckhart. Some of the girls, however, were looking dreamily at Eckhart, and one seated next to Whitman broke her concentration long enough to whisper, "Cut it out, Pete."

"Mr. Whitman, stand up, please," said Quillish. Whitman stood. "Why don't you explain what the first stanza of the poem is about—in your own words?"

Mr. Wood knocked on the door and entered. "Just came by to see if there was actually anybody in here; it's so quiet."

"Good morning, Mr. Wood," said Quillish. "We were just studying a poem by Emily Dickinson. Mr. Whitman was admiring Mr. Eckhart's excellent reading of the poem. Isn't that right, Mr. Whitman?"

"Yes, sir," said Whitman.

"And he was about to dazzle us with an exegesis of the first stanza when you came in. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Wood?"

I'm very impressed," said Wood. "Could we have a brief word in the hall?"

"Certainly. Class, while I'm away, I want you to write down your thoughts and feelings about this poem."

The class, as one person, immediately set pens to paper and scribbled away without a murmur. Quillish followed Wood into the hall.

"What did you do?" asked Wood.

"Oh, I followed your advice: I put myself in the right frame of mind and just took command."

"I never said that."

"Oh, well, Ms. LaChance also gave me some pointers, but I found your advice inspiring, too," Quillish said.

"Ms. Who?"

"Ms. LaChance—Abby LaChance? Yesterday was his first day substituting for Mr. Salmonen."

"But Mr. Salmonen wasn't out yesterday," said Wood. "And we haven't had any new subs all semester."

"That can't be!" exclaimed Quillish. "I spoke with her."

"Oh, I believe you spoke to somebody," replied Wood, "but I assure you: it wasn't a new substitute."

* * *

><p>Cordelia approached Angel's mansion once again, even though she did not intend to visit or even linger longer than it took to leave a package of documents.<p>

The Mayor was a very clever man, she thought. He had had his assistant, Allan Finch, select some documents showing corruption in the form of kickbacks, conflict of interest, and even the occasional hiring of vampires and sorcerers by the administration—nothing that could be used to stop the Ascension, of course, but the papers were more than mildly damning; Cordelia handwrote a cover letter to go with them. It read:

"Angel—

"Everything I tried to say last night came out wrong. I am so sorry I offended you. I never seem to know how to talk to people who have souls any more.

"Please believe that I do hate being a vampire, and I hate working for the Mayor even more. Let this package of documents—which I stole at great risk to me—prove my sincerity.

"Your Used-To-Be-Friend,

"Cordelia"

No sooner had she left the packet of papers on the doorstep than she heard footsteps coming up the walk. Cordelia hid and soon saw Buffy arrive at the door.

Buffy rapped on the door with the great doorknocker and then put her hands behind her back while she patiently waited. She looked down and saw the packet.

As Cordelia watched, her blood would have boiled—had it not been so cold. By the time Angel opened the door, Buffy was already reading Cordelia's letter.

"Hi, Buffy, come on in."

"I see that you entertained Cordelia last night," said Buffy, handing Angel the letter. "At least you weren't taken in by her, judging from the tone of this."

Angel read the letter. "What's in the packet?" he asked, seeing that Buffy was already looking through it.

"They're all documents from City Hall. Some are fairly recent. Others go back a year or two. Looks like payments made. Hello." Buffy held up a sheet of paper.

"What?" said Angel, taking the document out of her hand.

"Did I just see something with Mr. Trick's name on it?" asked Buffy.

"And the names of a couple other vampires I know," said Angel. "I can't believe the Mayor would leave a paper trail documenting his dealings with vampires."

"I can't believe Cordelia has the intelligence to find these, organize them, and deliver them to you." She turned over a sheet of paper and examined the blank side. "I never even realized she could operate a photocopier," she added.

"Aw, lay off," said Angel.

"Excuse me?" replied Buffy.

"You're always so down on Cordelia. What did she ever do to you, anyway?"

"She told the entire school I'm a homicidal maniac, for starters."

"But, look," said Angel. "Maybe this proves something about Cordelia."

"That she could get a job as a secretary? Maybe there's a big firm that hires demons on a regular basis."

"You know what I'm saying," said Angel, frustration rising in his voice. "She is trying to help us. She got these papers for us at great risk to herself."

"So she says," replied Buffy. "By the way, did you notice how every sentence in her letter features the word 'I' or 'me'? Some things about Cordelia haven't changed."

"All I'm saying, Buffy, is maybe we should give her the benefit of the doubt in case there's any possibility she could help with the Mayor. Besides, maybe she's not as bad as we thought."

"Hello?" said Buffy. "Does she have a soul? Did she ever?"

"You're being harsh," said Angel.

"And you're being gullible," said Buffy. "Tell me honestly: do you want to save Cordelia or date her?"

"Save her, of course," said Angel.

"You can't!" Buffy told him.

"Besides, if I did want to date her, it's not as if you have any claim on me," said Angel.

"I'm not talking about that, anyway," said Buffy.

"Aren't you? Stop being jealous," said Angel. Buffy took a step backward.

"Stop telling me what to do," said Buffy.

"Fine," replied Angel. "_You_ stop telling _me_ what to do."

"I think I will!" said Buffy, and she stalked away from Angel's home.

Angel went inside and slammed the door.

Cordelia came out of her hiding place and slowly walked—almost danced—across the porch. She smiled. This was working out better than she had expected.

* * *

><p>Faith was training with Giles and Wesley, or, rather, at the moment, Wesley was nursing his bruises while Giles took over training. Buffy walked in.<p>

"Hi, B," said Faith.

"Ah, Buffy," Giles greeted her happily.

"What's she doing here?" Wesley cried shrilly. Forgetting his sore flesh, he leaped up and went for a wooden cross and vial of holy water, which he held between himself and Buffy.

"Who's he?" asked Buffy.

"New watcher," replied Faith.

"I thought you were keeping Giles," said Buffy.

"I'm appealing any decision to the contrary," said Faith.

"Are you really re-ensouled," asked Wesley, lowering his guard, "or have you become evil again?"

"Good luck," said Buffy to Faith. "By the way, I heard you took some exams today and they might fast-lane your admission to Sunnydale High soon. Congratulations. When do you start?"

Faith made a face and punched Giles in his padded arm—and in spite of the padding, he winced.

"It isn't entirely clear yet," said Wesley, putting away the holy water but holding on to the cross. "We need to see the results first, and they might be available as early as tomorrow afternoon, but if they are acceptable—" (Faith struck Giles with another excessive blow.) "—as I am sure they will be—"

"Thanks a lot," said Faith over her shoulder.

"Then Faith might be admitted as soon as Thursday," Wesley concluded.

"Day after tomorrow," observed Buffy, sounding impressed.

"Yeah," said Faith through gritted teeth as she struck Giles hard once more, "but I'm a little p. that everybody keeps talking about this subject when I don't want to."

"Really?" said Giles. "I couldn't tell."

"So I'd appreciate if everyone'd just drop it."

"No problem," said Buffy. "Actually, I'm here to speak to Giles about something."

"Yes?" Giles said.

"In private," Buffy added.

"Oh, well, in that case, I suppose—Faith, if you will excuse me? I think it's Wesley's turn again."

"Whatever," said Faith, taking a few practice punches that came fairly close to Giles body and made him flinch in spite of the fact that he kept on smiling. He surrendered his position to Wesley her came slowly to stand on his mark.

Giles and Buffy retired to his office and closed the door.

* * *

><p>Joyce came home late from the gallery and picked up the mail. There was an official looking envelope addressed to Buffy. Joyce opened it at the kitchen table: it was an acceptance letter from NorthwesternUniversity. She began to cry.<p>

"What's the matter, Mom?" asked Buffy coming up behind her.

Joyce put away the letter quickly. "I've just been feeling overwhelmed by so many things that have happened. Sorry."

"Would it be better if I moved out?" Buffy asked.

"No, that's precisely what I'm not ready for. I know you will go eventually—and sooner than I ever expected—but if you could put it off as long as possible, I would be grateful."

"Of course, I'll do my best, Mom." Buffy kissed her mother on the cheek.

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

During the day, Cordelia used the basement of City Hall as her base of operations, but at night Wilkins let her use an apartment, owned secretly by the city—which was to say, by the Mayor—and there she stored her growing wardrobe of black lace and leather.

Cordelia answered a knock at the apartment door and smiled when she saw Angel there. She let him in and watched him tour the apartment, walking the distance from the long hallway, lined with ample closet space, to the living room. She saw him admiring the spacious kitchenette off to one side but, even more the large picture window looking onto a terrace.

"Very nice," said Angel, "but you don't spend much time here—during the day, I mean."

"I'm never home during the day. How did you know?" asked Cordelia.

"No curtains."

"Of course," she said, "but I don't miss it because I keep very busy."

"I'll bet the Mayor keeps you busy."

"I'm even busier now that I'm working for him and against him at the same time."

"Are you?" asked Angel.

"If you didn't believe that, I don't think you'd be here now," Cordelia replied.

"Let's say I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now, let's see what we can come up with to fight the Mayor."

Into the night, they plotted. Cordelia had a few ideas of her own, which impressed Angel, and he told her so. At 2 a.m., they were still at it.

"Would you like to take a break?" asked Cordelia.

Angel had not previously noticed how very close she was to him on the couch. "Well, I don't think there is anything more we can do tonight," he said, sliding away from her a little. "We need to see how phase one plays out before we know which way to go in phase two. Besides, I better be getting home, the sun will be up in a couple of hours."

"More like three hours."

"Yeah, well, I better be going, anyway."

"Oh, just a minute," said Cordelia, "I almost forgot." She bounced up from the couch and went to a dresser. She opened the top drawer, withdrew something, closed the drawer and glided back to Angel. "Here." She handed him the two black-bordered handkerchiefs, which were crisply folded. "I washed and ironed them myself."

"Oh, you didn't have to," said Angel.

"No, I did. You see, I don't want to keep anything of yours that I don't deserve."

"They're just cloth, Cordelia. Don't even belong to me; they're Dru's."

Cordelia winced. "I'd rather not have anything that belongs to her—the cast offs of one of your castoffs."

"It isn't like that," said Angel. "I don't know if I can explain it to you, but I'll try: I feel guilty for what I did to Dru—at least I used to feel guilty. Ever since she started killing Slayers, I've felt more guilty for cutting her slack."

"You're right, I don't get all the guilt: it must be a soul thing."

"Yeah," said Angel. "The point is, the next time I see Dru, I'll probably slay her."

"And how about me?" asked Cordelia. "You still want to slay me?"

"No," he said. "As a matter of fact, I'm kinda glad to be working with you. I can't explain it, quite, but I have this strong feeling that we were destined to work together one way or another. That doesn't make any sense, I know, but…."

"But it does make sense," said Cordelia, who had taken a seat beside him on her couch and now slid close enough so that her thigh lightly touched his. "I've had the same feeling. That's why I came to you."

Angel got up and walked to the other side of the coffee table. "No. This really doesn't make sense," he said. "I know what you want, but it can't be."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself, Mister," she said. "Maybe you should just go home after all."

"Yes," was all that he said. He put on his coat and then gathered up the several documents from the packet that he had thought significant enough to bring to this meeting. He put them in the pocket of his coat and said goodbye without looking at Cordelia.

"It's because you still love Buffy," she said.

"What?" He turned and looked at her. Even from across the room he could see her eyes glistening with tears.

"You still have feelings for her; so you can't act on your desires," she told him. "I have desires, too. I may not have a soul like you do—like she does—but I still have feelings. I am willing to give up acting on my desire and never mention it again, but I won't deny it to myself. I want to bear myself to you, now, Angel: I yearn for you. Maybe you think I only know lust, but I can still feel love."

"You don't have to convince me that vampires can feel love," said Angel. "I was like you once. It's different without a soul, yes, but it is love—at least, I think it is: God only knows, maybe I've never known anything but obsession whether I've had a soul or not."

"Oh, you love Buffy," said Cordelia. "I could always tell."

"Maybe you shouldn't keep talking about her. Reminding me of her isn't making me want to take my coat off."

"It's you that can't stop thinking about her," said Cordelia. "I don't believe there's anything I can say that would make you stay. So I might as well put a name to it."

"Buffy isn't the same now," said Angel. "Since she became a vampire, she's not who she used to be."

"She has her soul, though."

"Still, she's changed. I don't believe she loves me any more."

"How can you be sure?"

"Tonight—earlier this evening, before I came over here..." Angel spoke haltingly. "I think—I think we broke up."

"You've had cooling off periods before," soothed Cordelia.

"Oh, yeah." Angel laughed hollowly. "Breaking up with Buffy is so easy that I've done it more times than I can count."

"Maybe you'll get back together."

"What for?" asked Angel, his voice tinged with anger. "To get my heart broken all over again? Nah, this is it. I can only take so much. I'm only human." He looked Cordelia in the eye and she suddenly knew for a certainty that he saw there the reflection of what he was—as if vampires could see their reflections. "Well, part of me is human," he added.

* * *

><p>When Cordelia woke up, it was still well before dawn. She was alone in her convertible couch-bed. Between the sheets she was naked and she could smell his sweat on her breasts, co-mingled with her own. Sex is always dirty, she told herself—and that's how it should be.<p>

Her lips still tingled from his kisses—and where he had nipped her lip and drawn blood with his fangs. She ran her tongue over the cut, which stung deliciously even though it was already beginning to heal. She felt with her hands next to her on the bed, but he wasn't there.

She sat up. In the dim light of her apartment, she saw him standing in the kitchenette, leaning against the counter. He was fully dressed.

"I was about to wake you up," he said. "You take chances with the sun, sleeping so near to an uncovered window."

"I seem to have an instinct for getting up a good while before the sun," she said. "How did you sleep?"

"Sleep. I've slept far too long," he said disdainfully.

"What do you mean, Angel?"

"Oh, you can drop the act now, Cordy, my love. You've got what I think you wanted all along: it isn't Angel anymore, it's Angelus."

"Good," said Cordelia, running to him naked and throwing her arms around him. She kissed him on the mouth and gave him a little nip of her own.

"Yeah," he said wearily, "there'll be time for more of that later on."

Cordelia kept her arms around his neck but leaned her head back and looked into his eyes. "That's right," she said. "There's someone I think you should meet."

"I think you mean there's someone who should meet me," Angelus corrected her.

"Whatever. You two should meet, and then you can decide who needs to kiss whose ass."

Cordelia got dressed quickly. She smelled of their lovemaking, but so, she had noticed, did Angel—Angelus, she reminded herself. She had done it. Turned Angel into Angelus. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming—then wished she had asked Angelus to pinch her, but there wasn't time.

On their way, Cordelia and Angel encountered a disheveled man, necktie loosened and smelling of beer.

"Guess what?" slurred the man to Angel. "I've found my calling!"

Angel punched the man in the face, twice, sending him into the gutter.

"That guy bugs me," said Angel.

"Isn't he a sub at Sunnydale High?" asked Cordelia, looking over her shoulder but not bothering to stop.

"Yeah," said Angel. "You want to stop and have a bite?"

"No, we have to get to City Hall before the sun comes up."

"Right," Angel said. "Besides, his blood alcohol was too high, and I want to be sober when I meet the Mayor."

* * *

><p>Quillish managed to get home in time to shower—and shave a little around the swollen parts of his jaw—before he had to get to school. He came to school with his face still badly bruised. Wesley could not help noticing when they passed in the hall.<p>

Minutes later, Wesley led Quillish into the library where he introduced the substitute teacher to the members of the assembled Scooby gang and urged him to tell them what had happened.

"The other night at the Bronze I met this guy named Angel. He seemed like a nice enough fellow then, but last night—or maybe it was more like early this morning—when I bumped into him on the street, he hauled off and beat me up."

"I told you so," said Xander. "And need I point out, it could have been one of us with a black eye instead of him. Not that anyone would have wanted it to be you, Mr. Quillish."

"Oh, shut up," said Quillish.

"Yes, sir," said Xander.

Giles looked from Xander to Quillish and back again.

"Well, wouldn't Angel have just eaten the guy if he had really turned evil?" asked Faith.

"Perhaps," said Giles. "This is very important Mr. Quillish: how close to dawn was it when you encountered Angel?"

"Oh, well, I don't want people to get the wrong idea or anything—I mean, that I go carousing on school nights until all hours—because I don't."

"Of course not," said Giles soothingly but with a tinge of impatience.

"But I guess it was pretty close to dawn. I went straight home after he hit me, and it was light before I got there."

"He would have forgone eating him if he was in a hurry," said Wesley.

"I think the rest of us got there already, Wes," said Faith.

I'm sorry," said Quillish, "but why does everyone keep implying that Mr. Angel might have eaten me if he'd been in an evil enough mood?"

Don't worry about it, pal," said Faith. "You just trundle on back to class and let us deal with this."

"I beg your pardon, young lady," said Quillish imperiously. "I demand some respect."

"I'm sorry she spoke to you like that," Giles apologized, but he turned so that Faith alone could see him roll his eyes.

"I insist on the young lady making her own apologies," said Quillish indignantly.

"Screw you," said Faith.

"What is your name?" he demanded. "And why aren't all of you students in class?"

"I have a free period," stammered Xander. "Well, I don't really have a free period, but I always say that when we're in Scooby mode."

"Scooby what?" asked Quillish, both perplexed and peeved.

"Xander, cool it," said Willow.

"And what is your name, young lady?"

"I'm Willow Rosenberg," she said. "You substituted for my computer science class two weeks ago."

"Oh," said Quillish. "Sorry about that."

"It's OK," said Willow. "It only took a week to undo the damage; so we're all caught up now. If a week behind is caught up, that is."

"Well, I apologize for that, but I assure you that if I ever get the chance to substitute in your class again, I'll have them a week ahead of schedule—or I would if I knew anything about computers; I wish they wouldn't keep making me substitute in subjects I'm no good at."

"That's all right," said Willow. "I'm going to try not to miss any more classes this year, but if I do, you can be sure I'll, ah, keep you in mind."

"Thank you. Well, I for one must be getting back to class. If you leave them to themselves for a minute, they start a revolution, you know."

He walked toward the door. "Xander Harris, is it?" he said when he was almost to the library door.

"Yes sir?"

"You're name really stands out in Mrs. Bates attendance book. You haven't been to class all semester. Coming along?"

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." With that Xander packed his backpack hastily and dashed after the teacher.

Willow and Giles exchanged puzzled looks.

"You see?" said Faith. "That's the kind of b.s. that makes me feel like not becoming a student at this Mickey Mouse school."

"Now, Faith," said Wesley, "we've gone over this already; being a student at Sunnydale High will make it easier for you to get into the library to work with Mr. Giles and me. Just think of it as going under cover."

"Plus I'm going to hate being a freshman," said Faith.

"That's why it was important that you took the advanced placement tests," said Giles. "Maybe you'll be admitted as a junior. That wouldn't be so bad."

"Anyway, we'll know later this afternoon," said Wesley.

"Look at Buffy," said Willow, "she's going all the way to Ojai to take night classes three times a week and qualify for her GED."

Faith stared coldly at Willow.

"Ah… Willow," said Giles with a pained look on his face. Then to Faith, "Don't worry. The results of the tests will be positive—some at least."

"Can we get back to Angel?" said Wesley. "What are we going to do about him if he has gone evil?"

"Well, the first thing we're going to do is contact Buffy," said Giles.

"What and make her miss night school?" asked Faith, still glaring at Willow.

* * *

><p>"You can't be killed, but you don't like germs," said Angelus, trying to understand.<p>

Mayor Wilkins contorted his face. "Yee-uck! Disgusting things."

Angelus nodded even though he didn't get it.

"Remember," said the Mayor. "Torture the Slayer all you want, but don't kill her. 'The devil we know is better than the one we don't.'"

"That's good," said Angelus. "Do you mind if I use that without citing you as the source?"

Wilkins smiled at Cordelia. "I've heard of his whimsical nature, but he's got more of a sense of humor than I expected."

* * *

><p>As they wandered through the sewer tunnels beneath the city, Angelus and Cordelia traded ideas for taking Faith "off-line" as Cordelia put it.<p>

"Faith should be seducible enough," said Angelus.

"You mean, like, seducible seducible?" asked Cordelia.

"No, sweet cheeks," said Angelus. "Just meant we could lure her into a trap. After that, if you want to seduce her, its up to you."

"Only if you'll make it a three way," said Cordelia, smiling slyly.

"Hmmm, I might prefer to watch, if you don't mind."

"Mind! Why would I mind?" She stopped and ran her hands all over him and gave him a long kiss.

When they got back to his mansion Angelus made love to Cordelia yet again before they got to work and finalized their plans.

"You know," said Angelus. "We really ought to think about taking Buffy 'off-line'. She might be a threat to the Mayor, too."

"Not to worry," said Cordelia. "The Mayor knows what he's doing. If he needs to take out Buffy he'll order it."

"You really obey the Mayor without question don't you?"

"He's a winner. I've hitched my wagon to the biggest star."

"Hah! Just be sure you haven't hitched your wagon to a meteor that burns up in the sky before it ever reaches the earth."

"Then why are you in this?"

"I'm in it for you, Cordy. I wasn't bullshitting when I said that something about you tells me we were always destined to be together. I don't know why I never saw it before."

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Faith consulted her schedule and confirmed that she had English with Mrs. Bates, but the man standing at the head of the class looked like the same guy Angelus had punched out the day before. In fact, Faith thought, it _was_ the same guy. What was his name? Oh, yeah, Quillish.

"Mornin', Mr. Q," said Faith.

Quillish reared up. "Don't call me 'Mr. Q'," he said, but then he paused thoughtfully. "No, wait…I like that. You can call me 'Mr. Q'."

Faith felt like an emotional yo-yo inside, as if Mr. Q's initial command not to call him that had pulled her in one direction, and then the countermand yanked her in another. "OK," she replied tentatively.

"Do you have your admittance slip?" he asked. Faith surrendered her paperwork.

"Class, take your seats," said Quillish, and everyone—including Faith, to her own surprise—immediately went to sit down. Only, in Faith's case, she did not know where to sit.

"Mr. Whitman, please help Ms. McCarthy find a seat."

"Yes, sir," replied Whitman.

Faith felt creepy being referred to as 'Ms. McCarthy'—especially since that was not her real name. The Council had many resources, and coming up with an identity for her that came complete with fake elementary and middle school transcripts had been child's play for them—although Faith was disappointed that they had given her inconspicuous grades.

Whitman guided her to an empty chair in the middle of a row. Faith sat down and began to fish through her backpack for pencil and paper.

"Ms. McCarthy," said Quillish, startling Faith, "would you be so good as to spell the word 'myriad' for me?"

"Ahh, m-e-r-a-i-d?" Faith ventured.

"No," said Quillish. "That was surprisingly close to the proper spelling of 'mermaid' but not correct for 'myriad'." He consulted a sheet on his desk. "Ms. Shen?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I believe you are in charge of spelling."

"Yes, Mr. Quillish."

"Ms. McCarthy is in your group today."

"Yes, Mr. Quillish."

"Now then, Mr. Guerrero?"

"Sir."

"I've decided to add a composition group. Your answers on yesterday's pop essay quiz were very well written. You'll lead the new group that will include the following students: David Cameron, Albert Eng, Xander Harris, Linda Morales, George Markarian, and Lucille Skerry. Harris and Skerry, please note that this supersedes your obligation to study spelling with Ms. Shen. Now, Margaret Heffermehl?"

"Yes, Mr. Quillish."

"Your sentence diagramming group will not meet today so that you may attend my Shakespeare symposium. The rest of your group will meet with Ms. Shen, but tomorrow the diagramming group will meet again and Ms. McCarthy will join you. All right, everyone to your corners. Let's get to it, class."

Being intimidated by anyone was an unfamiliar experience for Faith. It took her a moment even to identify the feeling, but she had to ask a question no matter that questioning this teacher's authority made her queasy. "Mr. Q? Aren't you kinda shortchanging the class by not teaching us yourself?"

"Not at all," he replied. "If I taught each of you what you need to learn, one by one, I'd never teach most of you anything. This way, I am very busy organizing and supervising the education of all of you." He walked to the rear corner of the room near the windows where four students drew their chairs around him.

Faith saw circles of students of various sizes drawing together in the other corners of the room. Though Quillish had not mentioned the topics of all of these other groups, he had obviously set them up during a previous class. Faith gathered her things and obediently carried her chair to her group.

* * *

><p>That evening, Angelus walked up the steps to the Summers home and knocked. It wasn't long before Joyce answered the door. He noticed that her hair had just been permed that day.<p>

"Oh, I'm afraid Buffy isn't here. You just missed her," said Joyce.

"That's all right," said Angelus. "I came by to see Faith. Are they both out on patrol?"

"No," said Joyce. "In fact, Buffy went looking for her because Faith didn't come home from her first day of school. I'm frankly a bit worried. I know Faith isn't exactly used to calling home, but this seems very odd."

"Maybe she went patrolling by herself," suggested Angelus.

"Well, if she did, she didn't tell Mr. Giles about it."

"Hmm," said Angelus. He complimented Joyce on her hair and walked to the sidewalk. "She isn't home," he said. Cordelia emerged from the shadow of a neighbor's hedge. "This interrupts our plan, but we should be patient," he told her.

"Maybe Joyce is lying," she said. "I can't go in without an invitation, but you can, and then you could torture her until she tells the truth."

"I don't think she's lying. She seems genuinely puzzled by Faith's not being home yet. There probably is something funny going on around here—I mean, besides us. I say we bide our time. Maybe Buffy will find Faith for us, or maybe we'll find her tomorrow."

"You wouldn't want to go back to my place and get into some hanky-panky, would you?"

"I was thinking more in terms of chez moi, lover," said Angelus. "I have chains at my place."

* * *

><p>"Mr. Quillish," said Vice-principal Wood, stopping the substitute on his way to class the next morning. "I wonder if I might ask you a question."<p>

"Certainly."

"Just what in blazes are you doing?"

"Sir?"

"I understand that you are dividing up your classes into study groups and the students are actually teaching each other?"

"Yes, but I assure you that I supervise every group. I think that when you test them, you'll find great improvement in everyone—including the students who are doing the teaching. And I monitor their work and also teach them advanced material myself."

"Where did you get this idea?" asked Wood.

"I don't really know," said Quillish. "It popped into my head that I could get more teaching done if I delegated some of it. Students often learn best from other students who have just learned the material—I do think I read that somewhere back in college; I just never thought to construct a whole methodology around it."

"Well, I have to say I admire you for your initiative, but I have received complaints from Mr. Leong in the math department and Ms. Hapgood of social studies that you are organizing study groups in their subjects, as well. Students all over the school, it seems, are teaching each other without regard to the official curriculum. Your each-one-teach-one system seems commendable in some ways, but it's kinda leading to chaos."

"Well, Mr. Wood, chaos is in the mind of the beholder," replied Quillish. "But I certainly don't want to step on anyone's toes. I'll try to limit myself to the students who ask for my help. You wouldn't want me to turn away students who want my help would you?"

"No," said Wood uncertainly.

"Well, they all want my help. All you have to do is ask them." Just then, the first bell rang. "Excuse me, I must hurry if I'm going to make the second bell. You can't leave them to themselves for long, can you?" He hurried off.

"No, I don't suppose you can," said Wood to himself. He felt certain that his conversation with Quillish had not resolved anything.

* * *

><p>At the same time that the conversation between Wood and Quillish took place, Faith entered the school library. Giles, Wesley, Buffy, and Willow were sitting around the main table.<p>

"Faith, we've been worried sick about you," said Wesley. "Where were you last night? And don't say you were patrolling; I know you were not."

"Oh, of course I wasn't," said Faith. Turning to Giles, she added, "I went to the town library to do research for a term paper in English. Do you realize that in your drive to get the best demonology collection of any school in California—if not the country—you completely forgot to get any books on sentence diagramming?"

"Sentence what?" asked Buffy.

"Yeah, that's what I said, too," replied Faith. "Mr. Q says that I should do a term paper on it. It's really interesting, too—in a wicked dreary way."

"And you spent the evening at the public library?" asked Willow.

"Yeah. That's what I said," said Faith, annoyed by the obviousness of the question.

"What about your patrolling?" asked Giles.

"What about it?"

"Well, ordinarily, I would laud any young American's taking an interest in the proper use of the English language, but isn't slaying a tad more vital than sentence diagramming?"

"Not if I want to pass Mr. Q's class," replied Faith.

"Who is this Mr. Q?" asked Wesley.

"Mr. Quillish is the guy you brought in here the other day," said Faith "—the one Angelus punched out—which reminds me: if I ever catch him," she added, knitting her brow in anger, "I am so going to make him pay for that."

"I'm puzzled," said Willow. "Didn't you say all that school work and obedience to teachers is Mickey Mouse B.S.?"

"I stand by that—in general—but Mr. Q is different. So stop hassling me, huh? Jeez! Make up your minds! Do you guys want me to become a regular schoolgirl or don't you?"

"But I went to school here," said Buffy, "and I was never what you'd call a 'regular schoolgirl'."

"Well, I'm not you," said Faith. Just then, the first bell rang. "OK, I'm sorry about last night, but from now on, if you can't find me, I'm probably at the library. Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta get to Mr. Q's class."

After Faith left, the Scooby Gang was silent for a long while.

"Are we talking about Quillish the substitute?" asked Buffy. "Because the other night I saw him talking to Angel at the Bronze. Quillish seems to have an alcohol problem, by the way, if anyone cares. Anyway, Angel described him as terrified of his students because they won't obey him."

"Yes," said Willow. "But not anymore. All of a sudden he isn't scared of anybody. Not students, not teachers. He even takes students away from other teachers and gives them assignments of his choosing.

"All over school, kids are ignoring their regular teachers and even cutting classes so they can go to his room. As a teacher, I'd have to say it's very unsettling—even if you have seen the kinds of things we've seen on the hellmouth. I'm glad that he doesn't know much about computers or I think he would've tried taking over my classes."

"You mean this Mr. Quillish is teaching a number of classes at once? How does he do that?" asked Wesley.

"Precisely what I hoped Mr. Giles might be able to explain," said Mr. Wood walking into the library. Giles suddenly realized that there would be a lot more explaining to do if the vice-principal saw Buffy, but when he looked toward the chair where she had been sitting it was empty. He presumed that she had gone the way she had come, slipping into the tunnels underneath the school, which connected to the rear of the library stacks.

Wood explained Quillish's method of dividing classes into groups in which students taught each other under his supervision.

"Dear Lord," said Giles and Wesley in unison. But then only Giles added, "It's the Lancastrian system!"

"I never heard of it," said Wood. "Do they use it in Lancaster over in England?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Wesley.

"The Lancaster method isn't named for a place," said Giles. "It's named for its inventor, Joseph Lancaster—1778 to 1838, I believe. Interestingly, he was born in London but died in New York, so he did bring his method to these shores. But until recently there has been very little resurgent interest in "monitorial instruction" as the method is often called; it isn't taught much in schools of education; so there's no particular reason you should have heard of it, nor would Mr. Quillish likely have run across it in the course of his education; however, Lancastrianism has made a comeback in the most surprising places. It's quite interesting, really." But Giles looked around at his audience and realized that they were not warming to the subject as he was.

"I'm sure he didn't learn it anywhere," said Wood. "He says that it just came to him shortly after he overcame his fear of students."

"And when did that occur?" asked Giles.

"Earlier this week," said Wood. "It was after I spoke to him about the discipline problems in all of the classes where he substitutes. At first, I might have liked to take credit for the change in him, but now I'm glad to think that someone else is responsible."

"Who do you mean?" asked Giles. Wood told them about the mysterious substitute teacher Quillish claimed to have met.

"I searched records going back several years," explained Wood, "and there never has been a substitute—or a regular teacher, for that matter—named Abby LaChance."

"Very disturbing," said Giles.

"See here, why don't you just sack the bloke?" asked Wesley.

"Huh?" said Wood. "Oh, you mean 'fire him'. I already would have, but in less than a week, he has the parents of his students eating out of his hand. There is even a petition going around to have him hired as a full-time teacher. They're impressed that someone is actually able to get kids interested in learning. I'm impressed, too, but I'm also alarmed. Do you think you can help, Mr. Giles?"

"Research mode?" said Willow.

"Right," said Giles.

"Can I help?" asked Wood.

Giles hesitated. "Perhaps I should call on you if I need your assistance."

"Because I already know about demons and Slayers and all that," said Wood.

"Good Lord!" cried Wesley to no one in particular. Then to Giles he said, "Do you people publish a newsletter or some such thing?"

"Believe me," said Wood, "I have known about Slayers—and watchers—since I was six years old."

He then revealed to them that he had been born to a Slayer in New York and that her watcher had also raised and mentored him. Naturally, Giles and Wesley had known the man; so, after an exchange of polite reminiscences about their late colleague, Giles and Wesley formally agreed that Wood was welcome to help them in their research.

"One thing that very much troubles me is that Quillish seems to have magical control over the students," said Giles. "Xander was instantly obedient when Quillish gave him an instruction. Faith was insolent when she first met Quillish, but now she would rather study for him than slay vampires."

"Oh!" cried Willow. "I get it! He can magically make students obey him; so, before Faith became a student, he had no power over her."

"You're a student," observed Wood. "Does he have any power over you?"

"Actually, no, but that must be because I have quasi-teacher status."

"So there is definitely a spell of some sort at work here," Wesley said as he set a second pile of books on the table. He and Giles divided the books among the four of them.

Before long, duty called Willow and Wood away, but they returned at four o'clock that afternoon. In the meanwhile, Giles and Wesley had narrowed down the search to a handful of books.

"My working hypothesis is that we are dealing with the wish or curse—depending upon one's perspective—associated with a vengeance demon," Giles explained.

"It seems a stretch," commented Wesley, but he offered no alternative.

"Oh, you mean like this vengeance demon?" asked Willow. She held up a book with the picture of a demon in a flowing gown, a greenish mask-like face, and a large Afro. "Her name is Abenaa," said Willow, reading from the book.

"Abenaa—Abby, of course!" said Giles. He was as excited as he ever got. "And what is her specialty?"

"Huh?" said Wood, looking over Willow's shoulder.

"Each vengeance demon specializes in granting wishes to individuals with a particular type of problem," said Giles. "Some vengeance demons avenge betrayed lovers; others avenge abandoned children; still others might avenge…."

"Kings who have been overthrown," said Willow.

"What?"

"'Abenaa specializes in cursing the rebellious who have overthrown legitimate leaders of every kind,'" Willow read. She then handed the book over to Giles, and he read out loud the tale of Abenaa:

_Three centuries ago, there was an African kingdom ruled with a firm hand by the Denkyirahene or king. The kingdom was noted for its gold, kola, and terracotta statuary, but it also traded in slaves, captured in war and sold to the Portuguese._

_Abenaa was the daughter of the Queen Mother and also sister to the young king, Ntim Gyakari. Because the kingship passed from uncle to nephew, young Abenaa would have been mother to the next king, if all had gone according to plan._

_But one of King Ntim's subjects, Osei Tutu, was angered by the oppression and enslavement of his people, and he rebelled, finally defeating Ntim in battle. After having Ntim beheaded, Tutu declared himself king and moved the capital of the kingdom to his hometown of Kumase, but he continued to war with Ntim's old allies. _

_Under the protection of the sorcerer, Okomfo Anokye, Osei Tutu consolidated his power. Anokye created a Golden Stool, which embodied the power of kingship and would ever after be sought by anyone who would be king. _

_Tutu also spread the rumor that he had fathered Ntim by sleeping with his mother—Abenaa's mother and namesake—thereby making it seem that Ntim was not legitimate while Tutu could also claim to be the king's father. Angered by this lie, Abenaa swore that she would make herself a sorceress powerful enough to overcome Anokye's magic, which nevertheless protected Tutu from her vengeance for many years._

_Finally, she broke Anokye's protection spell and Tutu was killed in battle. It is believed that D'Hofryn appeared to Abenaa at this time and offered to make her a vengeance demon. She accepted and has specialized in cursing the rebellious ever since._

Giles closed the book and looked at his audience. "So, we know who cast the spell," he said. "The trick now is to find the way to break it."

* * *

><p>Angelus walked up the marble staircase to the third floor of the Sunnydale Public Library. There he found Faith, with her nose in a book, seated at a table upon which were strewn six or seven other books on English grammar and related topics.<p>

"I have to admit, I'm surprised to find you in a library," said Angelus.

"You are shocked; I am the one who is surprised," said Faith, casually casting a glance at him over her shoulder before going back to her book.

"Are you correcting my grammar?" asked Angelus incredulously.

"No," said Faith patiently. "I'm correcting your word choice."

Angelus shook off the thought that the woman before him was not Faith at all, but a demon inhabiting her body or some grammar-obsessed shape-shifter mimicking Faith's appearance.

"Listen, Faith, are you still interested in slaying?"

"I am the one and only Slayer."

"Good, then, because I have some books that should interest the Slayer: the Books of Ascension."

"Oh, good," said Faith. "Everybody's talking about those books these days. Had a bead on them a week ago, but then the demon who offered them to me turned up dead. You don't have them here, do you?"

"Nah. They're at my place," said Angelus. "Bringing books to a library seemed redundant—and if that's the wrong word, don't correct me."

"I wasn't going to," said Faith. "Shall we go?"

"Faith, the proper diction is kinda creeping me out. Would you please talk normally for the rest of the evening?"

* * *

><p>Faith walked into Angelus' darkened home with a modicum of wariness, but she dropped her guard when she found that all was still and silent.<p>

"So, where are the books?" she asked.

"I'll go and get them," said Angelus. "You have a seat."

Faith flopped in an over-stuffed chair and sliced great arcs through the air as she crossed her legs.

Before he left the room, Angelus nodded toward the shadows behind Faith. Cordelia came forth and approached the back of Faith's chair.

The vampiress hovered over the Slayer. She began weaving her hands in figure-eight patterns around Faith's shoulders and head. Cordelia raised her sharpened talons above her own head, then plunged them down toward Faith. She placed her fingertips on either temple of Faith's head and began to massage her victim.

"Is that you Angel?" asked Faith.

"Shh," said Cordelia softly.

"That feels great," said Faith, closing her eyes and leaning back until her face was turned toward Cordelia's. Slowly she opened her eyes to find vampire eyes staring back at her.

Deep down, an alarm went off, and yet Faith paradoxically felt a frozen warmth—a paralysis not unlike that in the poem fragment on the chalkboard in Mr. Q's room:

"…As Freezing persons, recollect the snow—  
>First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—"<p>

"Look into my eyes," said Cordelia. "There are depths as deep as deep wells where you can dive forever like a swan, and there you will be, deep in my eyes, deep in me."

"You're beautiful," murmured Faith.

"Yes," said Cordelia. "I know."

"I've missed you, Mom."

"Now, wait a minute," snapped Cordelia. "I'm not anyone's mother!"

"Huh?" said Faith groggily.

"Enough fun and games," said Angelus, kneeling in front of Faith and deftly putting ropes around her wrists.

He handed the ropes to Cordelia who threw the ends over a rafter and tied them to iron spikes that, earlier in the day, had been set into the floor at the corners of the room. Faith was hauled up off the floor by her wrists. Cordelia then moved the chair in which Faith had been sitting while Angelus put chains around each of Faith's ankles and secured the chains to spikes that had been concealed beneath the chair.

By the time Faith fully regained her awareness, she was suspended from the rafter, her arms and legs spread apart; she was helpless.

Faith spat at Angelus. "I never trusted you," she said to him.

"What can I say," said Angelus. "You were right."

"I don't know if you guys realize this, but kinky stuff doesn't exactly scare me," said Faith, appraising her situation. "I've been known to enjoy it."

Cordelia said, "Then we'll try not to make this any fun—for you."

* * *

><p>Chapter Five<p>

In his office in the high school library the lights were dimmed as Giles prepared several bowls of dried leaves and magick dusts and set them on his desk. He burned some of the leaves in a cup and began reciting an invocation from the book on the easel before him.

"Oh, Abenaa! I beseech thee. Oh, protectress of overthrown and ill-treated rulers, scourge of unruly and rebellious subjects." He added magick dust to the fire and it flared up, brightly bathing the office for a moment in a red glow. "Come before me. Quickly. Now!"

Giles glanced to his left and right to see whether the invocation had worked, but he saw nothing. Then he suddenly felt a presence behind him. He turned and saw the figure of Abenaa approaching him from the library. She was even more terrible than her picture had suggested, her green mask hideous and her body emanating waves of wrath.

Giles realized that he had better meet her in the open rather than let her trap him in the confined space of the office. He boldly walked into the library; instantly, the whole room lit with a light that emanated solely from the demon herself.

"Do you summon me, mortal?" asked Abenaa.

"I humbly beg your assistance," said Giles.

"Assistance?" mused Abenaa. "Are there students who refuse to be silent in the library?"

"Well, yes… but that is not…" began Giles.

"No? Do you wish to make your charges—what are their names? Buffy and Faith?—do you wish me to make them obey your every command?"

"Well, Buffy isn't really in my charge anymore," Giles pondered out loud, "and while your offer with regard to Faith is tempting, I don't think it will be necessary…."

"Then you dare to summon me for some frivolous purpose?" Abenaa thundered. Her mask grew a deep, dark green—the color of some African glade where no light ever fell.

"Hardly frivolous, I think," said Giles. "You see, we believe that you have granted a wish recently to a Mr. Quillish."

"Ah, yes. Quillish: what a wonderful teacher he has become. You should all be proud of him."

"W-why, yes," said Giles. "I suppose we should, after some fashion; however, wouldn't it be better for all concerned to revoke that wish…."

"Revoke a wish?" cried Abenaa. "Do I restore rulers to their rightful place only to overthrow them myself?"

"Well," said Giles, "he is causing quite a stir, you know, with those unorthodox methods."

"Great rulers are entitled to be innovators," said the vengeance demon. "Are not his methods effective? Do not the students learn?"

"Well, I suppose…"

"There is no supposing," she stated. "His methods are sound."

"However, they were triggered through magick," Giles objected. "Not through Mr. Quillish's natural abilities."

"Nonsense!" said Abenaa. "My power had nothing to do with his methods. You are simply jealous because he is conquering other rulers' subjects."

"Subjects?" asked Giles. "Other rulers? Oh, you mean he's putting other teachers out of work. Well, isn't that a legitimate objection?"

"A ruler expands his domain. It is his prerogative," she declared.

No one but a fool would have contradicted her tone, and Giles was no fool. However, he needed to try something. Anything.

"Is there no offering that could persuade you to return Mr. Quillish to his previous condition?" asked Giles tentatively.

"No," said Abenaa, "But for your repetitious and insolent requests, I will exact from you your life." And like a wraith from hell she flew at him and clutched firmly around his neck with a single hand made of long, steel-hard fingers.

"Abenaa!" called a voice that seemed to Giles to be coming from a thousand miles away as he felt consciousness ebb. "Abenaa!" The voice suddenly seemed to be in the same room. Giles swam to the surface of his awareness and found himself in the library again. Something had distracted Abenaa, and she had turned toward the door of the library. Giles sank heavily into the nearest chair.

"Another obnoxious mortal calls my name!" cried Abenaa. "Who are you?"

"I am Robin Wood," said the dark figure at the door. He stepped into the light of Abenaa's aura. "I am the vice-principal of this school—I am a prince of this kingdom."

"Ah," purred Abenaa. "So you are."

"This wish you have granted to one of my subordinates has upset the rule of my kingdom."

"How so?" asked Abenaa, showing a degree of concern.

"It is my prerogative and that of my superiors to say who shall teach whom and where, and when classes shall be convened; yet you have allowed Mr. Quillish, one of my underlings, to usurp the rightful authority of me and my superiors. For this reason, the spell must be undone."

"Oh," said Abenaa, genuinely worried now. "But D'Hofryn, _my_ ruler, will be angry if I revoke a vengeance spell."

"Would you rather undermine the authority of legitimate rulers?" asked Wood.

"I suppose not," sighed Abenaa.

* * *

><p>"Here are the instruments for your torment," said Cordelia, sweeping her arms over the tray of forceps, pliers and aviation snips. "Is that what you mean?" she asked Angelus.<p>

"Well, subtlety would work. I mean, these implements kinda sell themselves, if you know what I mean. There's no need to pose and make broad gestures like some bimbo presenter at a trade show," said Angelus.

Cordelia pouted. "Angelus, dear, you're supposed to be mean to her, not to me."

Oh, sorry," he said. He sidled up to Faith and stage whispered in her ear: "You'll have all of my attention soon enough." He picked up the aviation snips and cut along the side seam of her blouse, up to the arm pit and around the shoulder.

"Hey! My favorite shirt!" complained Faith.

"I'd be more concerned about what I'm gonna do to your favorite body parts," cooed Angelus. He tore her sleeve and rolled it up toward her wrist, as he simultaneously ran his fingers lightly down the inside of her arm and down her side which had been fully expose by the snips.

Faith reacted, giggling spasmodically, and tried to jerk away from his tickling, but her bonds were too tight for her to move sideways from him; she only succeeded in arching her back, and not very much at that.

"Ooh, baby's ticklish," said Angelus. "You want some of this, lover?"

"I want to start snipping things off," said Cordelia. "Not listen to her giggle like some simpering twit."

"Hey!" said Faith.

"See! She's not even getting the idea of who's in control."

"That's because you like to think you're in control," said Faith, "but you're just the Mayor's lackey whore. You're screwing him, aren't you?"

"Actually, life with Mayor Wilkins is a no-go on that front," said Cordelia. "All he thinks about is the Ascension. I'm supposed to be his right hand when that day comes—which might be really useful to him since I'm not sure he's gonna have any hands. Anyway, you might be lucky to die today if my picture of what's gonna happen is right; he's gonna gobble down this whole town."

"Doesn't sound like this Ascension will improve his table manners," said Faith, trying her best to ignore Angelus' continued attention as he removed her blouse and began caressing her neck with the cold metal snips.

"That's good, Angelus," said Cordelia. "I'm going to give puppy such a bite there."

"Well, I always said your bark is worse than you bite," said a female voice at the doorway to the room.

Cordelia turned and found herself face to face with Buffy who was dressed in a black leather costume almost identical to Cordelia's.

"You know how I hate fashion faux paux," said Cordelia. "One of us should go home and change."

"You mean Angel hasn't given you your own drawer to keep stuff here?" said Buffy. "Tsk-tsk, Angel."

"It's Angelus," he said, moving toward Buffy with the snips in his hand.

When he reached her, he took a swipe with the point of the tool, but Buffy backed into a fighting stance and then smoothly knocked the snips from Angelus' hand with a sweeping kick. Cordelia moved in, trying to outflank Buffy.

"Hey, Buffy," called Faith. "I realize you're kinda busy, but if you get a chance to free me up, I could help you. And, by the way, you look like you need help."

Angelus delivered a jump kick that sent Buffy sprawling backward. He then advanced, but Buffy got back control by tumbling out of his way and regaining her feet.

Angelus continued to move in, but Buffy counterpunched. He stumbled back two steps before stepping aside, seizing Buffy's arm, and pulling her through the opening.

Cordelia attacked Buffy and managed to land a punch before Buffy began showering her with counterblows that Cordelia barely managed to block. Buffy then forced Cordelia to back into a corner but had to break off because Angelus was coming up behind her.

Buffy turned to face Angelus, but he wasn't there. Suddenly a net fell on Buffy and she was tangled in an instant. In the next moment, the world turned upside down and she found herself suspended five feet above the floor.

"Gotcha!" cried Angelus.

Angelus and Cordelia worked quickly to tie Buffy up while she was still tangled in the net. It was as if they had practiced the maneuver all day.

Finally, the two vampires set up both of their victims in similar positions, spread-eagle and suspended from the same rafter. However, they had to move Faith and retie her bonds in order to do this.

"Now we have a real problem," said Angelus. "I don't know which one to torture first."

"Oh, I always want to play with the new Barbie doll," said Cordelia.

"What were you saying about identical outfits?" Angelus said to Cordy as he picked up the aviation snips and swiftly cut off Buffy's leather top. Then he replaced the snips carelessly on the tray with the other implements and went to the doorway where he picked up Faith's bag. He fished around until he found what he was looking for. "Let's see," he said. "The possibilities are so endless, but how do you think a Slayer-turned-vampire would like a taste of her own medicine?" He held up a bottle of holy water.

He opened it and tossed a few drops on Buffy's now bared skin. The liquid immediately turned to steam and smoke as vampire flesh dissolved and escaped into the ether. Buffy gritted her teeth but could not hold back a groan of pain.

"Here," said Angelus, handing Cordelia the bottle. "Pour some on her, and see how she likes it."

"No fun. She might enjoy that," said Cordelia.

"Keep your fantasies to yourself," said Buffy.

"I recall you had some fantasies of your own not long ago. Now it's payback."

Faith looked at the tray where Angelus had set the snips, and she felt her wrist slipping in the rope that held it. She strained to pull her hand through the bond while she tried not groan at her own exertion, suppressing every gasp until she finally felt her hand move an inch, only to feel it catch again. She began again to strain and yet conceal her straining.

Faith was unable to cover the final little groan as she freed her left hand, but Buffy's scream happened to cover it up. Faith saw that Angelus and Cordelia were using an atomizer to spray holy water on Buffy's bared skin.

Angelus' back was to Faith, and Cordelia was intent on the task of spraying liquid and then running her hands over Buffy's arms.

"Don't touch!" said Angelus.

"Very strange," said Cordelia wonderingly. "I would have thought that this would burn her flesh a lot more than it does, but it just feels very hot."

"In an atomizer, the damage that stuff can do really sneaks up on you, lover," explained Angelus. He took the atomizer from her hand and set it on the table behind him without taking his eyes off of Cordelia. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Course not," said Cordelia. "I'm saving that for you to do." Then Cordelia's eyes widened.

"Where's the Slayer?"

Instinctively, Angelus first glanced toward Buffy but instantly realized that he had better follow Cordelia's gaze. He turned in time to have his face filled with an acid spray that turned his vision instantly to darkness. He put his hands to his face as he cried out in pain. A powerful force smashed into his ribs and sent him sprawling into the darkness where he crashed into something made of fabric, cotton filler, metal springs, and wood. He fell among splinters, and felt the vampire's terror that a suitably large enough splinter might penetrate his heart.

"We've practiced tying those knots for days," said Cordelia. "How did you ever escape?"

The Slayer, who held the emptied atomizer in one hand, now raised her other to show Cordelia the aviation snips. She opened and closed them twice to demonstrate how she had cut her other bonds once she had gotten one hand free.

Cordelia came at Faith with a banshee scream. Faith stabbed Cordelia in the heart with the snips, but, of course, the spiraled metal scissors merely gave the vampire pause. It was enough time for Faith to deliver a kick and then pummel Cordelia with a half-dozen punches.

Angelus crawled across the floor away from the fight. He felt the floor with one hand and waved the other in front of him to meet any obstacle he might encounter.

Faith maneuvered the fight to where Angelus had fallen into and smashed the over-stuffed chair; the Slayer snatched up a broken chair leg and moved in for the kill. Cordelia recovered enough to put space between herself and Faith, and she struck a fighting posture.

"Don't slay her yet!" called Buffy.

Cordelia turned to Buffy and smiled. "I knew you were craving my attentions; don't worry: I'll get back to you soon." Cordelia blew Buffy a kiss before she turned back toward Faith just in time to block a thrust of the stake and then to block every thrust, punch and kick Faith mustered after that.

But Faith was relentless, and Cordelia was unable to lay a finger on her without immediately needing to duck or dodge the thrust of the pointed chair leg.

"Angelus!" she cried. "I'm gonna get you out of here!"

"Faith!" called Angelus. "Don't slay Cordelia!"

"Oh, right," said Faith, puffing to catch her breath. "I'm in a generous mood after what you guys tried to do to me. I promise you this: I'll give her more of a chance than you gave me."

"No," said Buffy. "Listen to Angel."

"You mean Angelus, don't you?" said Faith. "Anyway, if you people don't shut up, I'm going over and slay Angelus before Queen C here, seeing as he's the easier target."

"Faith, Angel is not evil. He was faking it," said Buffy desperately.

"Why don't I believe you?" asked Faith.

"Because you're gullible?" suggested Buffy.

"Buffy, don't antagonize her just now," pleaded Angel, waving his hands before him, searching for something to grasp.

"Angelus is really still Angel?" said Cordelia, her large eyes staring far away.

Faith began to catch on. "You two—Angel and Buffy—have been in on this whole thing all along?"

"And to think I was almost willing to give my life to save you from the Slayer," said Cordelia to Angel.

"Almost?" asked Buffy.

"Faith! You've got to take her alive," Angel said.

"I don't think so," said Cordelia.

"That works for me," replied Faith with another thrust of the stake.

Cordelia parried and attacked Faith with renewed zeal, born of fury. But even this was soon spent as she kept turning her attention to Angel, who was now sitting in a corner. "I thought I really gave you enough pleasure to turn you into Angelus," she said.

"Had you been the real Cordelia—who knows?—you might have had a chance," said Angel. "As vampire Cordelia? Don't be deluded."

A tear formed and fell from one of Cordelia's eyes, but self-preservation kicked in just in time for her to dodge Faith's stake. The two adversaries traded blows and feints for several seconds, but Cordelia was coming closer and closer to being staked with each thrust of Faith's wood.

Cordelia jumped onto the back of the dresser where Angel kept Druscilla's collection of handkerchiefs. Executing a back-bend that she had not tried since she had been a cheerleader, Cordelia reached behind her to grab the knobs of the drawer and then back-flipped off of the dresser, putting it between herself and Faith. Almost continuing the same motion, she stepped backward and pulled out the drawer. As Faith leaped over the dresser to pounce on the vampiress, Cordelia hit her with the drawer.

Dozens and dozens of handkerchiefs filled the air like a snowstorm of linen and lace. Cordelia was surprised to realize that the drawer contained not only a number of the black-bordered handkerchiefs but others of every description and even several different colors and sizes, although white predominated.

Faith fell to the floor, tangled in cloth, but she rolled away from Cordelia and leaped to her feet. As she regained her bearings, she turned from side to side, looking to see where the next attack would come from, but Cordelia was nowhere to be seen.

"She went out the door," said Buffy. "She got away!"

Faith went to a window, tore aside the heavy curtain, and looked out onto the street. Cordelia was halfway down the block; Faith saw her just as the vampiress stepped beneath a street lamp, pausing long enough to glance over her shoulder. Faith felt as if Cordelia was looking straight at her, but she realized that it was possible that Cordelia was only looking ruefully at the house itself.

"Would you mind undoing these ropes and chains?" said Buffy.

"Sure, B," replied Faith. She crossed the room and began undoing the knots, but she found them rather difficult. "What was the plan, anyway?" Faith asked.

"We were trying to trick Cordy into telling us the Mayor's plans—before you chased her off."

"Not my fault. You guys should have told me the plan." Faith began freeing Buffy but stopped suddenly. "Wait a minute. The atomizer. What was really in that?"

"I was never a whiz at chemistry," said Buffy. "Willow said it's a solution with a little sulfuric acid mixed in. Not something a human should try, and I can tell you it does hurt, but it can't cause any permanent damage to a vampire, although Will did warn us not to get it in our eyes. She thought it might cause temporary blindness."

"Wait a minute, again," said Faith. She stopped untying Buffy, stepped back, and placed her hands on her hips. "You mean to tell me that Red was in on this, but I was out of the loop?"

"Giles and I were going to tell you," Buffy explained, "but when you fell under the influence of Mr. Q, we agreed that we couldn't be sure about you."

"I'm not under anyone's influence!" protested Faith. "But since you guys have everything under control, I do have a term paper to finish by Monday." She began to walk away.

"Ahem," said Buffy.

"What?" asked Faith.

"You were about to untie me?"

"You didn't free me; why should I free you?" pouted Faith. "Besides, Angel can do it."

"I'm temporarily blind," said Angel as he bumped his knee on a table that Cordelia had moved to an unfamiliar place.

"Aw, you could probably feel your way through Buffy's ropes and chains," suggested Faith. She picked up a stapler from the tray of instruments and shivered as she contemplated it. She glanced sidelong at Angel.

"He _could_ untie me," admitted Buffy, "but it would be easier if you did it."

"But probably not as much fun," said Faith as she stapled the seam of her ruined blouse and then pulled it on. She looked at Angel and shook her head, then left.

* * *

><p>Quillish knocked softly on the door to Wood's office.<p>

"Come in," said Wood.

"Thanks," said Quillish taking a chair in front of the vice-principal's desk.

Wood finished writing in the folder he was working on and then closed it.

"So, I understand you are leaving us."

"Yes," said Quillish. He winced at some memory. "I apologize for messing up your curriculum—and for leaving before Mrs. Bates returns from her sick leave."

"That's all right," said Wood. "Are you sure you don't want to give teaching another shot? Not here, of course, but perhaps you could move to some other school district."

"No, I think I've learned my lesson," said Quillish.

"As teachers often do," said Wood.

"Hmm?"

"Look, in spite of everything, I'll be glad to give you a recommendation," said Wood.

"Really?"

"Yes, I think that you have an untapped talent for initiative and organization. That idea about organizing the students into study groups genuinely came from you, didn't it?"

"I believe it did," said Quillish.

"Do you know what you are going to do now?"

"Not in the long run, but tomorrow I have a job interview."

"Really? What kind of a job?" asked Wood.

"They're hiring a new bartender at a place called Willy's."

"Hmm. Ever been there?"

"Funny, but it's one of the few bars in town I've never been in," mused Quillish.

"Well, I can't say it's the happiest match for you," said Wood.

"You think I should stick with teaching?"

"I didn't say that," Wood hastened to say. "But while you're working the bar, just remember what Al Pacino said in the movie, 'Scarface'."

"What?" asked Quillish.

"'Don't get high on the supply.'"

* * *

><p>The Bronze was somber that evening despite a fair crowd. According to the board outside, the performer was named Cat Herrmann. She sang her sad ballad, "Beggar's Song."<p>

Faith and Buffy sat together in a corner drinking café mochas. Buffy was treating, and Faith had ordered a scone, but now she only picked at it.

"I'm sorry we left you out of the loop," said Buffy.

"Why don't you speak for yourself? _You_ left me out," said Faith. "Even though you aren't a Slayer anymore, I thought we could trust each other enough to tell the truth."

"I'm sorry," said Buffy. "I should've stuck up for you."

"But you didn't trust me yourself," accused Faith.

Across town, Cordelia lay on the bed in her apartment. She stared into space.

All around Cordelia, vampires packed her wardrobe and carried boxes out of the door as the Mayor supervised. For a moment, Wilkins paused to gaze with avuncular concern toward Cordelia who sighed deeply, a habit of love not easily broken even after becoming a vampire.

"Well, you have to admit you were acting pretty weird this past week," Buffy said to Faith.

"In what way?" demanded Faith.

"You? Studying like it was more important than Slaying?"

"It could happen."

"Still," said Buffy, "I should have listened to what you had to say instead of making the decision for you."

And Buffy and Faith shook hands on their renewed pact.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, across town, Cordelia's back was turned toward Wilkins so that he did not see tears silently flowing from her eyes. Another human reaction to loss that is not easily given up.<p>

* * *

><p>At the Bronze, the audience applauded. Buffy and Faith joined in.<p>

"Do you need to go to the library?" asked Buffy.

"I no longer have the urge," said Faith, shocked to hear herself say so. "Whadya say we go home and watch Letterman?"

* * *

><p>"So who's evil this week?" asked Joyce.<p>

"Huh?" said Buffy. She and Faith were watching a commercial between segments of _The Late Show._

"Well, it seems like I'm always being friendly toward the wrong people because you never give me the scorecard for the week. Angel was evil, and then he was good; the other night he was good but he was pretending to be evil. Cordelia used to be a friend…"

"She was never a friend," said Buffy.

"I hardly even knew her," added Faith.

"But she wasn't evil," said Joyce. "Now she is."

"Well, I thought you might get that—since she was missing and presumed dead—if she showed up at the door, you'd think twice before inviting her in," said Buffy.

"Good point," said Joyce who then hesitated and furrowed her brow.

"Is there something else bothering you, Mom?"

Joyce sighed and said, "When you came into the kitchen the other day and I said there was nothing specific bothering me, I lied; there was something specific." She showed Buffy the acceptance letter from Northwestern.

"Wow! I got accepted!" shouted Buffy, jumping out of her chair. "Look, Faith, I got accepted." She waived the letter in front of the Slayer until she took the time to examine it.

"Good goin', B.," said Faith politely, before turning her attention back to a TV commercial.

Buffy suddenly stopped jumping up and down and looked at her mother. "Now, tell me exactly why this doesn't make you happy?"

"Oh, honey, I am pleased—and very proud," said Joyce, "but, Buffy, you can't go to college. You're a vampire; they probably have a rule against it or a policy or something."

"Oh, Mom, they don't have to know I'm a vampire," said Buffy. "I mean, they're a big university; I'll bet they have night classes and everything."

There was a knock at the door.

"Who the hell could that be at this time of night?" asked Faith.

"Don't say 'hell', dear," said Joyce.

"I'll get it," said Buffy starting for the door.

"Excuse my language, Joyce," said Faith contritely.

"Oh, I don't object to a little language, dear," said Joyce. "It's just that, in this town, it might actually be someone from you-know-where."

Buffy opened the door. It was Allan Finch.

"Do you mind if I come in?" he asked desperately.

"Oh, hey," said Faith.

"You know this guy?" asked Buffy.

"Know him! I almost staked him the other night when I was coming home from the library; he came up on me out of nowhere."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," said Finch pushing his way into the house.

"So, have you got those papers you were going to bring over?" asked Faith.

"I think I've done better than that," Finch said. "Out in my car I've got a full set of the Books of Ascension."

* * *

><p>Chapter Six<p>

It's come to this, thought Faith as she raced through the corridors of Sunnydale High. The Mayor, in his gargantuan, pure-demon form, slithered behind her with astonishing rapidity. She dashed through double doors that closed and locked behind her, and then turned down another corridor toward the library. It was risky, but she and Giles had carefully choreographed her run, making sure that there would be minimal obstacles for her and maximal obstacles for him—or it, or whatever the Mayor was now.

Come on, Dick, she muttered to herself. Don't fall behind. Just then, there was a loud crash, and Faith noticed from the corner of her eye that the enormous dragon-like head of the Mayor's new body had knocked an opening through a wall and was moving like a locomotive along a track parallel to Faith's.

Almost to the library, thought Faith. When she hit the double doors of the library, they made a resounding boom. She did not pause but leaped over the pile of dynamite crates, grasped and swung herself over the balustrade, and disappeared headlong into the rear stacks.

Entering the library, Richard Wilkins III—who was, in truth, the same individual as Richards I and II, the former having been born in Ohio in 1824 and introduced to the black arts on board a ship en route to California in 1849—had to pause to get his bearings. He scanned the library, but that vile girl was nowhere in sight. In the split instant before he saw the dynamite, all of the thoughts he had recently experienced flashed through his elevated consciousness. The dusting of his beloved vampire Cordelia at the hands of the Slayer, the resulting fury that had driven him through his oration at the commencement ceremony, the eclipse of the sun that inaugurated his change into the demon he had now become; then Faith taunting him with the gift he had given Cordelia. Who had invited her, an underclassman, to graduation anyway? The Slayer had not had the courage to face him; instead she ran into the school, a cowardly ploy but frustrating: leading him on an unmerry chase that only infuriated him more. Then he spied the crates of explosives.

"Well, gosh," the Mayor said.

In the next moment, the library and the Mayor's head and then the entire school exploded. Outdoors, Faith and Giles fell to the ground where Giles had pushed the plunger, having set off the fuse once he saw that Faith was clear. They covered their ears against the deafening sound that accompanied the sky-high ball of fire spreading over the grounds of what had been their school. The earth shook. Even a block away, on the other side of campus, where a battle raged between vampires and high school students, everyone had to steady him or herself even to the point of enemies clutching at each other for stability. Vice principal Wood was fortunate to be able to use this moment to extricate himself from almost certain death as two vampires had been attacking him together. He staked one that had been knocked off balance by the manmade quake; then he turned to face the other vampire and slew him easily.

Wesley Windham Pryce lay prostrate in the midst of the battle. "Any help at all would be appreciated," he moaned. A blonde vampiress leaned over him and spoke soothingly.

"Now just let Harmony take all of your pain away."

"Not likely, bitch," said Buffy, her game face on as she literally kicked Harmony's butt and launched her over and beyond Wesley's head. Buffy picked Wesley up, slung the watcher over her shoulder, and carried him away from the battle. He groaned and gasped but was unable to complain intelligibly. Buffy put him down with his back to a wall and handed him a stake. "Think you can use this if you have to?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," he replied slowly, wincingly. But Buffy returned to the fray before he had uttered the last word.

When the battle was over, the vampires as well as the Mayor had lost. Their plan had depended on the coordination of the former chief executive of Sunnydale and his army of vampires in order to succeed, and Xander's strategy had helped to separate the two, ultimately squeezing the vampires between two masses attacking from behind and in front simultaneously. It reminded Giles of something he had read—as almost everything did. He thought that Hannibal and Alexander the Great would have been proud of Xander even if the boy could identify neither great military leader—and yet the school board, in its wisdom, had seen fit to award this young man with a diploma. Giles looked down and saw that very diploma with the full name on it—Alexander LaVelle Harris—sticking out from under the rubble on the steps leading to what had been the school. The place where they had researched and planned against the powers of evil and darkness for three long years—where they struggled and some had died.

* * *

><p>It was now night. The fire department had put out the fire, though too late to save anything. As paramedics put him into one of the ambulances, Wesley was heard to complain with annoying politeness. Hearses removed those who could no longer complain. Vice principal Wood led a party in surreptitiously performing the grim but necessary task of staking and beheading those who had been bitten and might yet turn if they had had time to drink blood.<p>

Buffy glanced anxiously about for sight of Angel. Her eyes found and rested upon his distant frame. He stood still as if staring at her for one last time. Then something passed in front of him, and when it was gone, so was he.

Giles found the Scoobies huddled together: Willow, Xander, and Oz. "I found something that belongs to you," he said. "I don't know whether or not you want it, but each of you certainly deserves it." He solemnly gave a badly singed diploma to Willow, then one to Xander, and finally handed half a diploma to Oz; it just said "—iel Osbourne."

"Crispy," observed Oz. "But appreciated."

"This means more coming from you than from anyone else," said Willow, choking out the words. A tear escaped an eye as she clutched her diploma with both hands.

"I don't really deserve this," said Xander. "It'll have to do as a consolation prize."

"Nonsense," said Giles. "All of you deserve your diplomas. You've given the full measure these past several years. It hasn't always been in class, but what you've done outside of class has counted for a great deal. If no official honor can be bestowed upon you, then your diplomas will have to suffice. To you, especially, Xander, I want to say that today, I think you acquitted yourself… ah, pretty well."

"Say, I'll take faint praise from you over effusiveness from anyone else," said Xander with rare solemnity, though Giles could not help detecting that characteristic insolence that seemed best described as Xanderesque.

"I don't suppose you have anything there for me," said a voice from behind Giles.

The watcher turned and gazed into Faith's eyes. He wondered how long she had been standing there, watching the impromptu ceremony, and his heart sank. He had no award to give her. Faith had barely managed to complete the junior year—one year short of graduating from high school. Her formal education had been interrupted just as it had barely begun. It was a dismal fact that no Slayer had ever completed high school or its equivalent. Some had been privately tutored which had given them fairly good backgrounds, but none had ever had the opportunity to attend a university that a diploma from the secondary level could afford.

"I'm sorry, Faith," he said. "Perhaps you will be able to attend school in one of the neighboring districts; that's what I imagine that the other juniors who survived today are going to do. I understand that they have a rather fine progressive school in Ojai.

"Don't worry about it," said Faith nonchalantly. "Maybe I'll just get a GED like Buffy did."

"Somebody mention my name?" asked Buffy, approaching her friends.

"Faith was just contemplating following in your academic footsteps," said Giles. "By the way, congratulations on your GED. I daresay you might be the first vampire to earn such a degree."

"It was a snap," said Buffy to Faith. "It helps to take night classes, but I had that covered."

"Hello? Slayer, remember?" said Faith thumbing her own chest. "Kinda busy nights."

"But, really," said Buffy, "all you have to do is study at home and then take the exams: instant high school diploma."

"Something to think about," said Giles. "You won't be going anywhere straight away, will you?" he asked Faith.

"I'm kinda too dazed to decide on where to go or what to do."

"I imagine you are. I'll be right back," said Giles. "May I have a word?" he asked Buffy.

"Have a sentence, even," Buffy said.

"I shall miss your drollery."

"Let's step into my office," said Buffy, leading him a few feet away from the gang. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to see how you are doing. Ah, Angel… I don't suppose you know whether he…."

"Survived the fight? Yeah, he showed up as the smoke of battle dissipated and then did his mysterious-guy-disappearing act. I'm OK with it—as OK as I'll ever be; so don't worry."

"'Dissipated'. That's a good word for you."

"GED, remember?"

"Right. Speaking of education, have you made any plans in that regard?"

"Northwestern has accepted me. As long as they don't find out that I'm technically dead, it looks like I'll be matriculating in the Windy City come next fall."

"And your mother knows?"

"She knows, and I'd say you could color her proud. Proud and safe since Faith and I put her on the bus to Palm Springs last night."

"I just know that she will miss you; she won't admit to you that she does, but…."

"That's why I'm depending on you to take good care of her," said Buffy, lowering her brow and sternly peering up at her former watcher.

"I beg your pardon?" he replied.

"Yeah, once I'm gone, you two won't have to have smoochies _sub rosa_ anymore."

"Sub…?" Giles began, finding it difficult to become accustomed to Buffy's forced integration of her examination vocabulary into her otherwise still slang-ridden speech. "How did you know?"

"Pul-ease," she said, rolling her eyes. "Vampire hearing. Besides, even if I didn't have super hearing, it's still kind of obvious. That's my mom you've fallen in love with."

"Well, I don't know that I've used the word… love, exactly," said Giles. Then he smiled sheepishly and his eyes twinkled. "Imagine it happening to an old bachelor like me."

"You'll be great together."

"I admit we've both been worried about your approval."

"Hey, if Faith is cool about it—since she's the one who has to live with you two love birds—then so am I."

"Faith knows?"

"Knows what?" asked Faith, coming up beside Buffy. The Slayer wrapped both arms around the former Slayer's right arm and leaned affectionately against her.

"Giles still thinks everybody doesn't know about him and Mom," explained Buffy.

"Oh, that," said Faith casually.

"And you are equally sanguine about this?" asked Giles.

"If that means, am I cool with it, hell yeah," said Faith.

"Sanguine's a funny word," Buffy explained. "It sorta means 'accepting' but it also means 'bloody.'"

"Then I'll grant you the first meaning, not the second," Faith assured Giles. "What a relief! I've been gettin' wicked tired of pretending I don't notice."

"When are you popping the question?" asked Buffy.

"Hold on!" said Giles. "We've just gotten past filial approval; we have to take a step at a time."

"Well, all right," replied Buffy. "But don't think I'll tolerate you having illicit relations with my mother forever."

"Hey, I'm not even her daughter, and that's gross to me!" Faith protested.

"I assure you that my intentions are honorable," said Giles. "I'm just not sure that your mother is ready to consent."

"We'll work on her then," said Faith. "Won't we Buffy?"

But Buffy was looking over at Willow, Xander, and Oz. She had not been paying attention to what they had been saying, but, up until moments ago, she had been unconsciously taking comfort in the sounds of their good-natured banter. Suddenly they had become utterly silent, and she had wondered why. They looked solemn, and Buffy thought that they were observing a moment of silence.

"And we're done," said Oz. The gang got up and began walking away.

"Are you coming, Faith?" asked Willow over her shoulder.

"Just a sec," called Faith. "Well, I'll see you guys at home," she told Giles and Buffy. "I'm gonna spend a little time unwinding with the Scoobs. Then I might have a look around town to see if there are any vamps still skulkin' around. If I do, I'll ask 'em what part of gettin' their asses whupped they didn't understand."

"Aren't you exhausted?" asked Giles.

"A little," allowed Faith, "but I feel my second wind comin' on."

"Well, before you go," said Giles. "I just wanted to tell you that you've done extremely well over the past several weeks. You were presented with a difficult challenge and you came through with flying colors. I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks," said Faith.

"I hope you appreciate that this guy doesn't give compliments easily—or practically ever," said Buffy. "I'm jealous."

Faith grinned, then hugged Buffy. Still smiling, she turned and walked away. Buffy almost thought that the Slayer skipped away. Suddenly, Faith seemed like a very young girl, and Buffy felt ancient.

"Are you sure that you don't want to 'unwind'—as Faith put it—with the others?" Giles asked.

"No, I'll see them again before I leave town. This night is theirs."

"It's yours, as well," said Giles.

"Every night will be mine for as long as I exist," said Buffy. She had never been to Chicago, and she tried to imagine the big city with its skyscrapers and frigid winter weather. To a vampire, the cold outside is nothing. She imagined that the more northerly clime would be less of an insult than the warm California sun that she could never enjoy.

"Let's go home," she said finally. "We need to call Mom at her hotel; I know she'll be anxious to hear from us both."

THE END


End file.
